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Proud of 'himself, send having a story to tell, 
Simon Dougherty hastened to re- 
late all that had happened to 'Ca.4 Gravs, and 
10 con grata! ciie them, as h.e said, upon his own 

carelessness. £ 


lillA E ® G E W f i T H . 

Wlieugh ! "Wheugh ! why what a. -world of husde and 
trouble is here! * 










Broadway, Ludgate Hill 


v. 2 

P R E F A C E. 

Some author says, that a good book needs no apology , 
and, as a preface is usually an apology, a book enters into 
the world with a better grace without one. I, however, 
appeal to those readers who are not gluttons, but epicures, 
in literature, whether they do not wish to see the bill of 
fare ? I appeal to monthly critics, whether a preface that 
gives a view of the pretensions of the writer is not a good 
thing? The author may overvalue his subject, and very 
naturally may overrate the manner in which it is treated ; 
hut still he will explain his views, and facilitate the useful 
and necessary art which the French call reading with the 
thumb. We call this hunting a book, a term certainly in- 
vented by a sportsman. I leave the reader to choose 
which he pleases, whilst I lay before him the contents and 
design of these volumes. 

Burke supposes that there are eighty thousand readers in 
Great Britain, nearly one hundredth part of its inhabitants ! 
Out of these we may calculate that ten thousand are 
nobility, clergy, or gentlemen of the learned professions. 
Of seventy thousand readers which remain, there are many 
who might be amused and instructed by books which were 
not professedly adapted to the classes that have beer 



enumerated. With this view the following volumes 1 have 
been composed. The title of Popular Tales has been 
chosen, not as a presumptuous and premature claim to 
popularity, but from the wish that they may be current 
beyond circles which are sometimes exclusively considered 
as polite. 

The art of printing has opened to all classes of people 
various new channels of entertainment and information. — 
Amongst the ancients, wisdom required austere manners 
and a length of beard to command attention ; but in our 
days, instruction, in the dress of innocent amusement, is 
not denied admittance amongst the wise and good of all 
ranks. It is therefore hoped that a succession of stories, 
adapted to different ages, sexes, and situations in life, will 
not be rejected by the public, unless they offend against 
morality, tire by their sameness, or disgust by their 
imitation of other writers. 

Richard Lovell Edgeworth. 

1 This Work was originally published in three volumes. 
















Some years ago, a lad of the name of William Jervas, or, as he 
was called from his lameness, Lame Jervas, whose business it was 
to tend the horses in one of the Cornwall tin-mines, was missing. 
He was left one night in a little hut, at one end of the mine, 
where he always slept; but in the morning, he could no where 
be found ; and this his sudden disappearance gave rise to a 
number of strange and ridiculous stories among the miners. The 
most rational, however, concluded that the lad, tired of his 
situation, had made his escape during the night. It was certainly 
rather surprising that he could no where be traced ; but after the 
neighbours had wondered and talked for some time about it, the 
circumstance- was by degrees forgotten. The name of William 
Jervas was scarcely remembered by any, except two or three of 
the oldest miners, when, twenty years afterward, there came a 
party of gentlemen and ladies to see the mines ! and, as the 
guide was showing the curiosities of the place, one among the 
company, a gentleman of about six-and-thirty years of age, 
pointed to some letters that were carved on the rock, and asked, 
"Whose name was written there?" "Only the name of one 
William Jervas," answered the guide; "a poor lad, who ran 
away from the mines a great long while ago." " Are you sure that 
he ran away?" said the gentleman. "Yes," answered the guide, 
'sure and certain I am of that." "Not at all sure and certain 
of any such thing," cried one of the oldest of the miners, who inter- 
rupted the guide, and then related all that he knew, all that he had 
heard, and all that he imagined and believed concerning the sud- 
den disappearance of Jervas; concluding by positively assuring the 
stranger that the ghost of the said Jervas was often seen to walk, 
slowly, in the long west gallery of the mine, with a blue taper in 
Popular Tales. b 



his hand. — " I will take my Bible oath," added the man, " that 
About a month after he was missing, I saw the ghost just as the 
clock struck twelve, walking slowly, with the light in one hand, 
and a chain dragging after him in t'other ; and he was coming 
straight towards me, and I ran away into the stables to the 
horses ; and from that time forth I've taken special good care 
never to go late in the evening to that there gallery, or near it : 
for I never was so frightened, above or under ground, in all my 
born days." 

The stranger, upon hearing this story, burst into a loud fit of 
laughter ; and, on recovering himself, he desired the ghost-seer 
to look stedfastly in his face, and to tell whether he bore any 
resemblance to the ghost that walked with the blue taper in 
the west gallery. The miner stared for some minutes, and 
answered, " No ; he that walks in the gallery is clear another 
guess sort of a person ; in a white jacket, a leather apron, and 
ragged cap, like what Jervas used to wear in his lifetime ; and, 
moreover, he limps in his gait, as Lame Jervas always did, I 
remember well." The gentleman walked on, and the miners 
observed, what had before escaped their notice, that he limped a 
little ; and, when he came again to the light, the guide, after 
considering him very attentively, said, " If I was not afraid of 
affronting the like of a gentleman such as your honour, I should 
make bold for to say that you be very much — only a deal 
darker complexioned — you be very much of the same sort of 
person as our Lame Jervas used for to be." " Not at all like 
our Lame Jervas," cried the old miner, who professed to have 
seen the ghost ; " no more like to him than Black Jack to Blue 
John." The by-standers laughed at this comparison ; and the 
guide, provoked at being laughed at, sturdily maintained that 
not a man that wore a head in Cornwall should laugh him out of 
his senses. Each party now growing violent in support of his 
opinion, from words they were just coming to blows, when the 
stranger at once put an end to the dispute, by declaring that he 
was the very man. "Jervas!" exclaimed they all at once, 
" Jervas alive! — our Lame Jervas turned gentleman ! " 

The miners could scarcely believe their eyes, or their ears, 
especially when, upon following him out of the mine, they saw 
iiim get into a handsome coach, and drive toward the mansion of 



one of the principal gentlemen of the neighbourhood, who was a 
proprietor of the mine. 

The next day, all the head miners were invited to dine in 
tents, pitched in a field near this gentleman's house. It was fine 
weather, and harvest time ; the guests assembled, and in the 
tents found abundance of good cheer provided for them. 

After dinner, Mr. R , the master of the house, appeared, 

accompanied by Lame Jervas, dressed in his miner's old jacket 
and cap. Even the ghost-seer acknowledged that he now looked 

wonderful like himself. Mr. R , the master of the house, 

filled a glass, and drank — " Welcome home to our friend, Mr. 
Jervas; and may good faith always meet with good fortune." 
The toast went round, each drank, and repeated, " Welcome 
home to our friend Mr. Jervas ; and may good faith always meet 
good fortune." Indeed, what was meant by the good faith, or the 
good fortune, none could guess; and many in whispers, and 
some aloud, made bold to ask for an explanation of the toast. 

Mr. Jervas, on whom all eyes were fixed, after thanking the 
company for their welcome home, took his seat at the table ; 
and in compliance with Mr. II — — 's request, and the wishes of 
all present, related to them his story nearly in the following 
manner : 

" Where I was born, or who were my parents, I do not well 
know myself ; nor can I recollect who was my nurse, or whether 
I was ever nursed at all : but, luckily, these circumstances are 
not of much importance to the world. The first thing which I 
can distinctly remember is the being set, along with a number of 
children of my own age, to pick and wash loose ore of tin mixed 
with the earth, which in those days we used to call shoad, or 
squad — I don't know what you call it now." 

" We call it squad to this day, master," interrupted one of the 

" I might be at this time, I suppose," continued the gentleman, 
"about five or six years old ; and from that time till I was thir- 
teen I worked in the mine where we were yesterday. From the 
bottom of my heart I rejoice that the times are bettered for 
youngsters since then ; for I know I had a hard life of it. 

" My good master, here, never knew any thing of the matter ; 
but I was cruelly used by those under him. First, the old woman 

b 2 



— Betty Morgan, I think, was her name — who set us our tasks 
of picking and washing the squad, was as cross as the rheumatism 
could make her. She never picked an ounce herself, but made 
us do her heap for her among us ; and I being the youngest, it 
was shoved down to me. Often and often my day's wages were 
kept back, not having done this woman's task ; and I did not 
dare to tell my master the truth, lest she should beat me. But, 
God rest her soul ! she was an angel of light in comparison 
with ths trap-door keeper, who was my next tyrant. 

" It was our business to open and shut certain doors, that were 
placed in the mine for letting in air to the different galleries : 
but my young tyrant" left them every one to me to take care of - 7 
and I was made to run to and fro, till I had scarcely breath in 
my body, while every miner in turn was swearing at me for the 
idlest little fellow upon the surface of the earth ; thougli the 
surface of the earth, alas ! was a place on which I had never yet, 
to my knowledge, set my foot. 

" In my own defence, I made all the excuses I could think 
of ; and, from excuses, I went on to all kinds of deceit : for tyranny 
and injustice always produce cunning and falsehood. 

" One day, having shut all the doors on my side of the mine, I 
left three open on my companion's side. The men, I thought, 
would not go to work on that side of the mine for a day or two : 
but in this I was mistaken ; and about noon I was alarmed by 
the report of a man having been killed in one of the galleries for 
want of fresh air. 

" The door-keepers were summoned before the overseer ; or, 
as you call him, the viewer. I was the youngest, and the blame 
was all laid upon me. The man, who had only swooned, 
recovered; but I was thrashed and thrashed for the neglect of 
another person, till the viewer was tired. 

" A weary life I led afterwards with my friend the door- 
keeper, who was enraged against me for having told the truth. 

" In process of time, as I grew stronger and bigger, I was set 
to other work. First, I was employed at the barrow ; and then 
a pick-axe and a gad 1 were put into my hands ; and I thought 
myself a great man. — It was my fate to fall among the idlest set 

1 A gad is a tool used in mines ; it resembles a smith's punch. 



in the mine. I observed that those men who worked by task, 
and who had the luck to hit upon easy beds of the rock, were not 
obliged to work more than three or four hours a day : they got 
high wages with little labour; and they spent their money jollily 
above-ground in the ale-houses, as I heard. I did not know that 
these jolly fellows often left their wives and families starving 
while they were getting drunk. 

" I longed for the time when I should be a man, and do as 
I saw others do. I longed for the days when I should be able 
to drink and be idle ; and, in the mean time, I set all my wits 
to work to baffle and overreach the viewer. 

" I was now about fourteen, and, had I grown up with these 
notions and habits, I must have spent my life in wretchedness, 
and I should probably have ended my days in a workhouse ; 
but fortunately for me, an accident happened, which made as 
great a change in my mind as in my body. 

" One of my companions bribed me, with a strong dram, to 
go down into a hole in the mine to search for his gad ; which 
he, being half intoxicated, had dropped. My head could not 
stand the strength of the dram which he made me swallow to 
give me courage : and being quite insensible to the danger, 
I took a leap down a precipice which I should have shuddered 
to look at, if I had not lost my recollection. 

" I soon came to my senses, for I broke my leg ; and it is 
wonderful I did not break my neck by my fall. I was drawn 
up by cords, and was carried to a hut in the mine, near the 
stables, where I lay in great pain. 

" My master was in the mine at the time the accident hap- 
pened ; and, hearing where I was, he had the goodness to come 
directly to me himself, to let me know that he had sent for 
a surgeon. 

" The surgeon, who lived in the neighbourhood, was not at 
home ; but there was then upon a visit at my master's a Mr. 

Y , an old gentleman who had been a surgeon ; and, though 

he had for many years left off practice, he no sooner heard of 
the accident that had happened to me than he had the goodness 
•to come down into the mine, to set my leg. 

" After the operation was over, my master returned to tell 
me that I should want for nothing-. Never shall I forget the 



humanity with which he treated me. I do not remember that 
I had ever heard him speak to me before this time ; but now his 
voice and manner were so full of compassion and kindness, that 
I looked up to him as to a new sort of being. 

" His goodness wakened and warmed me to a sense of grati- 
tude — the first virtuous emotion I was conscious of having ever 

" I was attended with the greatest care, during my illness, by 

the benevolent surgeon, Mr. Y . The circumstance of my 

having been intoxicated, when I took the leap, had been con- 
cealed by the man who gave me the dram ; who declared that 
I had fallen by accident, as I was looking down the hole for a 
gad that I had dropped. I did not join in this falsehood: for, 
the moment my master spoke to me with so much goodness 
about my mishap, my heart opened to him, and I told him just 
how the thing happened. 

" Mr. Y also heard the truth from me, and I had no 

reason to repent having told it, for this gave him, as he said, 
hopes that I might turn out well, and was the cause of his 
taking some pains to instruct me. He observed to me, that it 
was a pity a lad like me should so early in my days take to 
dram-drinking ; and he explained the consequences of intemper- 
ance, of which I had never before heard or thought. 

" While I was confined to my bed, I had leisure for many 
reflections. The drunken and brutal among the miners, with 
whom I formerly associated, never came near me in my illness ; 
but the better sort used to come and see me often, and I began 
to take a liking to their ways, and to wish to imitate them. 

" As they stood talking over their own affairs in my hut, I 
learned how they laid out their time and their money; and I now 
began to desire to have, as they had, a little garden, and property 
of my own, for which I knew I must work hard. So I rose from 
my bed with very different views from those which I had when I 
was laid down upon it ; and from this time forward I kept 
company with the sober and industrious as much as I could. I 
saw things with different eyes : formerly I used, like my com- 
panions, to be ready enough to take any advantage that lay in 
my way of my employer ; but my gratitude to him who had 
befriended me in my helpless state wrought such a change ii> 



me, that I now took part with my master on all occasions, and 
could not bear to see him wronged — so gratitude first made me 

"My master would not let the viewer turn me out of the 
work, as he wanted to do, because I was lame and weak, and 
not able to do much. — ' Let him have the care of my horses in 
the stable,' said my master: 'he can do something. I don't 
want to make money of poor Lame Jervas. So, as long as he 
is willing to work, he shall not be turned out to starve.' — These 
were his very words ; and when I heard them I said in my 
heart, ' God bless him ! ' And, from that time forth, I could, as 
I thought, have fought with the stoutest man in the mine that 
said a word to his disparagement. 

" Perhaps my feeling of attachment to him was the stronger, 
because he was, I may say, the first person then in the world 
who had ever shown me any tenderness, and the only one from 
whom I felt sure of meeting with justice. 

" About this time, as I was busied in the stable, unperceived 
by them, I saw through a window a party of the miners, amongst 
whom were several of my old associates, at work opposite to me. 
Suddenly, one of them gave a shout — then all was hushed — 
they threw down their tools, huddled together, and I judged by 
the keenness of their looks that they knew they had made some 
valuable discovery. I further observed, that, instead of begin- 
ning to work the vein, they covered it up immediately with 
rubbish, and defaced the country with their pick-axes ; so that, 
to look at, no one could have suspected there was any load to 
be found near. I also saw them secrete a lump of spar, in 
which they had reason to guess there were Cornish diamonds, 
as they call them, and they carefully hid the bits of Jcellus' 2 , 
which they had picked out, lest the viewer should notice them 
and suspect the truth. 

" From all this, the whispering that went on, and the pains 
they took to chase or entice the overseer away from this spot, I 
conjectured they meant to keep their discovery a secret, that 
they might turn it to their own advantage. 

_ 3 Kellus is the miner's name for a substance like a white soft stone, whicii 
lies above the floor or spar, near to a vein. 



"There was a passage out of the mine, known only to them- 
selves, as they thought, through which they intended to convey 
all the newly-found ore. This passage, I should observe, led 
through an old gallery in the mine, along the side of the 
mountain, immediately up to the surface of the earth ; so that 
you could by this way come in and out of the mine without the 
assistance of the gin, by which people and ore are usually let 
down or drawn up. 

" I made myself sure of my facts by searching this passage, 
in which I found plenty of their purloined treasure. I then 
went up to one of the party, whose name was Clarke, and, draw- 
ing him aside, ventured to expostulate with him. Clarke cursed 
me for a spy, and then knocked me down, and returned to tell 
his associates what I had been saying, and how he had served 
me. They one and all swore that they would be revenged 
upon me, if I gave the least hint of what I had seen to our 

" From this time they watched me, whenever he came down 
amongst us, lest I should have an opportunity of speaking to 
him ; and they never, on any account, would suffer me to go 
out of the mine. Under pretence that the horses must be looked 
after, and that no one tended them so well as I did, they con- 
trived to keep me prisoner night and day ; hinting to me pretty 
plainly, that if I ever again complained of being thus shut up, 
I should not long be buried alive. 

" Whether they would have gone the lengths they threatened 
I know not : perhaps they threw out these hints only with a 
design to intimidate me, and so to preserve their secret. I 
confess I was alarmed ; but there was something in the thought 
of showing my good master how much I was attached to his 
interests, that continually prevailed over my fears ; and my 
spirits rose with the reflection that I, a poor insignificant lad ; I, 
that was often the scoff and laughing-stock of the miners ; I, 
that went by the name of Lame Jervas ; I, who they thought 
could be bullied to any thing by their threats, might do a nobler 
action than any man amongst them would have the courage to 
do in my place. Then the kindness of my master, and the 
words he said about me to the viewer, came into my memory ; 
and I was so worked up, that I resolved, let the consequence be 


what it might, I would, living or dying, be faithful to my 

" I now waited anxiously for an opportunity to speak to him, 
and if I did but hear the sound of his voice at a distance, my 
heart beat violently. 'You little know,' thought I, 'that there 
is one here whom perhaps you quite forget, who is ready to 
hazard his life to do yen a service.' 

" One day, as he was coming near the place where I was at 
work, rubbing down a horse, he took notice that I fixed my 
eyes very earnestly upon him ; and he came closer to me, say- 
ing, ' 1 am glad to see you better, J ervas : — do you want any 
thing?' 'I want for nothing, thank you, sir, — but,' — and as I 
said but, I looked round, to see who was near. Instantly Clarke, 
one of the gang, who had his eyes upon us, called me, and 
despatched me, on some errand, to a distant part of the mine. 
As I was coming back, however, it was my good fortune to meet 
my master by himself in one of the galleries. I told him my 
secret and my fears. He answered me only with a nod, and 
these words, 'Thank you — trust to me — make haste back to 
those that sent you.' 

" I did so ; but I fancy there was something unusual in my 
manner or countenance which gave alarm ; for, at the close of 
the day, I saw Clarke and the gang whispering together ; and 
I observed that they refrained from going to their secret treasure 
the whole of the day. I was in great fear that they suspected 
me, and that they would take immediate and perhaps bloody 

" These fears increased when I found myself left alone in my 
hut at night ; and, as I lay quite still, but broad awake in my 
bed, I listened to every sound, and once or twice started up on 
hearing some noise near me ; but it was only the horses moving 
in the stable, which was close to my hut. I lay down again, 
laughing at my own fears, and endeavoured to compose myself 
to sleep, reflecting that I had never, in my life, more reason to 
sleep with a safe conscience. 

" I then turned round, and fell into a sweet sound sleep ; but 
from this I was suddenly roused by a noise at the door of my 
hut. 'It is only the horses again,' thought I ; but, opening my 
eyes, I saw a light under the door. I rubbed my eyes, hoping 



I had been in a dream : the light disappeared, and I thought it 
was my fancy. As I kept my eyes, however, turned towards the 
door, I saw the light again through the key-hole, and the latch 
was pulled up ; the door was then softly pushed inwards, and I 
saw on the wall the large shadow of a man with a pistol in his 
hand. My heart sunk within me, and I gave myself up for 
lost. The man came in : he was muffled up in a thick coat, his 
hat was slouched, and a lantern in his hand. Which of the 
gang it was I did not know, but I took it for granted that it was 
one of them come with intent to murder me. Terror at this 
instant left me ; and starting upright in my bed, I exclaimed — 
' I'm ready to die ! I die in a good cause ! Give me five 
minutes to say my prayers ! ' and I fell upon my knees. The 
man standing silent beside the bed, with one hand upon me, as 
if afraid I should escape from him. 

" When I had finished my short prayer, I looked up towards 
my murderer, expecting the stroke : but, what was my surprise 
and joy, when, as he held the lantern up to his face, I beheld — 
the countenance of my master, smiling upon me with the most 
encouraging benevolence. ' Awake, Jervas,' said he, ' and try 
if you can find out the difference between a friend and an 
enemy. Put on your clothes as fast as you can, and show me 
the way to this new vein.' 

" No one ever was sooner dressed than I was. I led the way 
to the spot, which was covered up with rubbish, so that I was 
some time clearing out an opening, my master assisting me all 
the while : for, as he said, he was impatient to get me out of the 
mine safe, as he did not think my apprehensions wholly without 
foundation. The light of our lantern was scarcely sufficient for 
our purpose ; but, when we came to the vein, my master saw 
enough to be certain that I was in the right. We covered up 
the place as before, and he noted the situation, so that he could 
be sure to find it again. Then I showed him the way to the 
secret passage ; but this passage he knew already, for by it he 
had descended into the mine this night. 

" As we passed along, I pointed out the heaps of ore which 
lay ready to be carried off. ' It is enough, Jervas,' said he, 
clapping his hand upon my shoulder ; ' you have given me 
proof sufficient of your fidelity. Since you were so ready to die 



in a good cause, and that cause mine, it is my business to take 
care you shall live by it : so follow me out of this place directly : 
and I will take good care of you, my honest lad.' 

" I followed him with quick steps, and a joyful heart : he 
took me home with him to his own house, where he said I might 
sleep for the rest of the night secure from all fear of murderers : 
and so, showing me into a small closet within his own bed- 
chamber, he wished me a good night ; desiring me, if I waked 
early, not to open the window-shutters of my room, nor go to 
the window, lest some of his people should see me. 

" I lay down, for the first time in my life, upon a feather-bed ; 
but, whether it was from the unusual feeling of the soft bed, or 
from the hurry of mind in which I had been kept, and the 
sudden change of my circumstances, I could not sleep a wink 
all the remainder of the night. 

" Before daybreak, my master came into my room, and bid me 
rise, put on the clothes which he brought me, and follow him 
without making any noise. I followed him out of the house 
before any body else was awake ; and he took me across the 
fields towards the high road. At this place we waited till we 
heard the tinkling of the bells of a team of horses. 4 Here 
comes the waggon,' said he, 'in which you are to go. 1 have 
taken every possible precaution to prevent any of the miners or 
people in the neighbourhood from tracing you ; and you will be 

in safety at Exeter, with my friend Mr. Y , to whom I am 

going to send you. Take this,' continued he, putting a letter 

directed to Mr. Y into my hand; c and here are five guineas 

for you. I shall desire Mr. Y to pay you an annuity of ten 

guineas out of the profits of the new vein, provided it turns out 
well, and you do not turn out ill. So fare you well, Jervas. I 
shall hear how you go on ; and I only hope you will serve your 
next master, whoever he may be, as faithfully as you have 
served me.' 

" ' I shall never find so good a master,' was all I could say 
for the soul of me ; for I was quite overcome by his goodness 
and by sorrow at parting with him, as I then thought, for 




"The morning clouds began to clear away; I could see my 
master at some distance, and I ke T >t looking after him, as the 
waggon went on slowly, and as ne walked fast away over the 
fields ; but, when I had lost sight of him, my thoughts were 
forcibly turned to other things. I seemed to awake to quite a 
new scene, and new feelings. Buried underground in a mine, 
as I had been from my infancy, the face of nature was totally 
unknown to me. 

" ' We shall have a brave fine day of it, I hope and trust,' 
said the waggoner, pointing with his long whip to the rising 
sun. t 

" He went on whistling, whilst I, to whom the rising sun was 
a spectacle wholly surprising, started up in astonishment ! I 
know not what exclamations I uttered, as I gazed upon it ; but 
I remember the waggoner burst out into a loud laugh. 1 Lud a 
marcy,' said he, holding his sides, ' to hear un, and look at un, 
a body would think the oaf had never seen the sun rise afore in 
all his born days !' 

" Upon this hint, which was nearer the truth than he 
imagined, recollecting that we were still in Cornwall, and not 
out of the reach of my enemies, I drew myself back into the 
waggon, lest any of the miners, passing the road to their 
morning's work, might chance to spy me out. 

" It was well for me that I took this precaution ; for we had 
not gone much farther when Ave met a party of the miners ; and, 
as I sat wedged up in a corner behind a heap of parcels, I heard 
the voice of Clarke, who asked the waggoner as he passed us, 
' What o'clock it might be ?' I kept myself quite snug till he 
was out of sight ; nay, long afterwards, I was content to sit 
within the waggon, rather than venture out ; and I amused 
myself with listening to the bells of the team, which jingled 

" On our second day's journey, however, I ventured out of 
my hiding-place ; I walked with the waggoner up and down the 
hills, enjoying the fresh air, the singing of the birds, and the 
delightful smell of the honey-suckles and the dog-roses in the 



hedges. All these wild flowers, and even the weeds on the 
banks by the way-side, were to nie matters of wonder and 
admiration. At every step, almost, I paused to observe some- 
thing that was new to me ; and I could not help feeling 
surprised at the insensibility of my fellow-traveller, who plodded 
on, seldom interrupting his whistling, except to cry, ' Gee, 
Blackbird, aw, woa ;' or, ' How now, Smiler ; l and certain other 
words or sounds of menace and encouragement, addressed to his 
horses in a language which seemed intelligible to them and to 
him, though utterly incomprehensible to me. 

" Once, as I was in admiration of a plant, whose stem was 
about two feet high, and which had a round, shining, pale 
purple, beautiful flower, the waggoner, with a look of extreme 
scorn, exclaimed, ' Help thee, lad, does not thee know 'tis a 
common thistle ? Didst thee not know that a thistle would 
prick thee?' continued he, laughing at the face I made when I 
touched the prickly leaves ; 1 why my horse Dobbin has more 
sense by half! he is not like an ass hunting for thistles.' 

" After this, the waggoner seemed to look upon me as very 
nearly an idiot. Just as we were going into the town of 
Plymouth, he eyed me from head to foot, and muttered, ' The 
lad's beside himself, sure enough.' In truth, I believe I was a 
droll figure ; for my hat was stuck full of weeds, and of all sorts 
of wild flowers ; and both my coat and waistcoat pockets were 
stuffed out with pebbles and funguses. 

" Such an effect, however, had the waggoner's contemptuous 
look upon me, that I pulled the weeds out of my hat, and threw 
down all my treasure of pebbles before we entered the town. 
Nay, so much was I overawed, and in such dread was I of 
passing for an idiot, that when we came within view of the sea, 
in the fine harbour of Plymouth, I did not utter a single 
exclamation ; although I was struck prodigiously at this, my 
first sight of the ocean, as much almost as I had been at the 
spectacle of the rising sun. I just ventured, however, to ask my 
companion some questions about the vessels which I beheld 
sailing on the sea, and the shipping with which the bay was 
filled. But he answered coldly, ' They be nothing in life but 
the boats and ships, man : them that see them for the first time 
are often struck all on a heap, as I've noticed, in passing by 



here : but I've seen it all a many and a many times.' So he 
turned away, went on chewing 'a straw, and seemed not a whit 
more moved with admiration than he had been at the sight of 
my thistle. 

" I conceived a high opinion of a man who had seen so much 
mat he could admire nothing ; and he preserved and increased 
my respect lor him by the profound silence which he maintained, 
during the five succeeding days of our journey : he seldom or 
never opened his lips except to inform me of the names of the 
towns through which we passed. *I have since reflected that it 
was fortunate for me that I had such a supercilious fellow- 
traveller on my first journey ; for he made me at once thoroughly 
sensible of my own ignorance, and extremely anxious to supply 
my deficiencies, and to find one who would give some other 
answer to my questions than a smile of contempt, cr, ( I do na 
lenaw, I say.' 

"We arrived at Exeter at last; and, with much ado, I found 

my way to Mr. Y 's house. It was evening when I got 

there ; and the servant to whom I gave the letter said he sup- 
posed Mr. Y would not see me that night, as he liked to 

have his evenings to himself ; but he took the letter, and 
in a few minutes returned, desiring me to follow him up 

" I found the good old gentleman and some of his friends in 
his study, with his grand-children about him ; one little chap on 
his knee, another climbing on the arm of his chair; and two 
bigger lads were busy looking at a glass tube which he was 
showing them when I came in. It does not become me to 
repeat the handsome things he said to me, upon reading over my 
good master's letter; but he was very gracious to me, and told 
me that he would look out for some place or employment that 
would suit me ; and in the mean time, that I should be welcome 
to stay in his house, where I should meet with the good 
treatment (which he was pleased to say) I deserved. Then, 
observing that I was overcome with bashfulness, at being looked 
at by so many strangers, he kindly dismissed me. 

" The next day he sent for me again to his study, when he was 
alone ; and asked me several questions, seeming pleased with the 
openness and simplicity of my answers. He saw that I gazed 



with vast curiosity at several objects in the room, which were 
new to me : and pointing to the glass tube, which he had been 
showing the boys when I first came in, he asked me if they had 
such things as that in our mines ; and if I knew the use of it ? 
I told him I had seen something like it in our overseer's hands ; 
but that I had never known its use. It was a thermometer. Mr. 

Y > took great pains to show me how, and on what occasions, 

this instrument might be useful. 

" I saw I had now to do with a person who was somewhat 
different from my friend the waggoner; and I cannot express 
the surprise and gratitude I felt, when I found that he did not 
think me quite a fool. Instead of looking at me with scorn, as one 
very nearly an idiot, he answered my questions with condescen- 
sion ; and sometimes was so good as to add, ' That's a sensible 
question, my lad.' 

" While we were looking at the thermometer, he found out 
that I could not read the words temperate, freezing point, boiling 
water heat, Sfc. which were written upon the ivory scale, in small 
characters. He took that occasion to point out to me the use 
and advantages of knowing how to read and write ; and he told 
me that, as I wished to learn, he would desire the writing- 
master, who came to attend his young grandson, to teach me. 

" I shall not detain you with a journal of my progress through 
my spelling-book and copy-books : it is enough to say that I 
applied with diligence, and soon could write my name in rather 
more intelligible characters than those in which the name of 
Jervas is cut on the rock that we were looking at yesterday. 

" My eagerness to read the books which he put into my hands, 
and the attention which I paid to his lessons, pleased my writing- 
master so much, that he took a pride, as he said, ' in bringing me 
forward as fast as possible.' 

"And here, I must confess, he was rather imprudent in the 
warmth of his commendations ; my head could not stand them ; 
as much as I was humbled and mortified by the waggoner's calling 
me an idiot, so much was I elated by my writing-master's calling 
me a genius. I wrote some very bad lines in praise of a thistle, 
which I thought prodigiously fine, because my writing-master 
looked surprised, when I showed them to him ; and because he 
told me that, having given a copy of them to some gentle- 



men in Exeter, they agreed that the rhymes were wonderful 
for me. 

" I was at this period very nearly spoiled for life : but fortu- 
nately my friend Mr. Y saw my danger, and cured me of 

my conceit, without damping my ardour to acquire knowledge. 
He took me to the books in his study, and showed me many 
volumes of fine poems ; pointing out some passages to me that 
greatly diminished my admiration of my own lines on the thistle. 
The vast distance which I perceived between myself and these 

writers threw me into despair. Mr. Y seeing me thoroughly 

abashed, observed that he was glad to find I saw the difference 
between bad and good poetry ; and pointed out to me, it was not 
likely, if I turned my industry to writing verses, that I should 
ever either earn my bread, or equal those who had enjoyed 
greater advantages of leisure and education. 'But, Jervas,' 
continued he, ' I commend you for your application and quickness 
in learning to write and read, in so short a time : you will find 
both these qualifications of great advantage to you. Now, I 
advise you, turn your thoughts to something that may make you 
useful to other people. You have your bread to earn, and this 
you can only do by making yourself useful in someway or other. 
Look about you, and you will see that I tell you truth. You 
may perceive that the servants in my house are all useful to me, 
and that I pay them for their services. The cook who can dress 
my dinner, the baker who bakes bread for me, the smith who 
knows how to shoe my horses, the writing-master who undertakes 
to teach my children to write, can all earn money for themselves, 
and make themselves independent. — And you may remark that, 
of all those I have mentioned, the writing-master is the most 
respected, and the best paid. There are some kinds of know- 
ledge, and some kinds of labour, that are more highly paid for 
than others. But I have said enough to you, Jervas, for the 
present : I do not want to lecture you, but to serve you. — You 
are a young lad, and have had no experience ; I am an old man, 
and have had a great deal : so perhaps my advice may be of 
some use to you.' 

" His advice was indeed of the greatest use to me : every word 
he said sunk into my mind. I wish those who give advice to 
young people, especially to those in a lower station than them- 



selves, would follow this gentleman's example ; and, instead of 
haranguing with the haughtiness of superior knowledge, would 
speak with such kindness as to persuade at the same time that 
they convince. 

" The very day that Mr. Y spoke to me in this manner, 

he called me in, that I might tell his eldest grandson the names 
which we miners give to certain fossils that had been sent him 
from Cornwall ; and, after observing to the boy that this 
knowledge would be useful to him, he begged me to tell him 
exactly how the mine, in which I had been employed, was 
worked. This I did, as well as I was able ; and imperfect as 
my description was, it entertained the boys so much that I 
determined to try to make a sort of model of the tin-mine for 
their amusement. 

" But this I found no easy task ; my remembrance, even of 
the place in which I had lived all my life, was not sufficiently 
exact to serve me, as to the length, height, breadth, &c. of 

the different parts ; and though Mr. Y had a good collection 

of fossils, I was at a loss, for want of materials, to represent 
properly the different strata and veins ; or, as we call it, the 

" My temper, naturally enthusiastic, was not on this occasion 
to be daunted by any difficulties. I was roused by the notion 
that I should be able to complete something that would be 
really useful to my kind benefactor's family; and I anticipated with 
rapture, the moment when I should produce my model complete, 

and justify Mr. Y 's opinion of my diligence and capacity. I 

thought of nothing else from the moment these ideas came into 
my head. The measures, plans, and specimens of earths and 
ore which were wanting, I knew could only be obtained from 
the mine ; and such was my ardour to accomplish my little 
project, that I determined at all hazards to return into Cornwall, 
and to ask my good master's permission to revisit the mine in 
the night time. 

" Accordingly, without a moment's delay, I set out upon this 
expedition. Part of the journey I performed on foot; but 
wherever I could, I got a set down, because I was impatient to 
^et near the Land's End. I concluded that the wonder excited 

Popular Tales. c 



by my sudden disappearance had subsided by this time ; that I 
was too insignificant to make it worth while to continue a search 
after me for more than a few days ; and that, in all likelihood, 
my master had dismissed from his work the gang who had been 
concerned in the plot, and who were the only persons whose 
revenge I had reason to fear. 

"However, as I drew near the mine, I had the prudence not 
to expose myself unnecessarily ; and I watched my opportunity 
so well, that I contrived to meet my master, in his walk home- 
ward, when no one was with him. I hastily gave him a letter 

from Mr. Y , as a certificate of my good conduct since my 

leaving him ; then explained the reason of my return, and asked 
permission to examine the mines that night. 

" He expressed a good deal of surprise, but no displeasure, at 
my boldness in returning : he willingly granted my request ; 
but, at the same time, warned me that some of my enemies were 
still in the neighbourhood ; and that, though he had dismissed 
them from his woi'ks, and though several had left the country 
in search of employment elsewhere, yet he was informed that 
two or three of the gang, and Clarke among the number, were 
seen lurking about the country : that they had sworn vengeance 
against me for betraying them, as they called it ; and had been 
indefatigably active in their search after me. 

" My master consequently advised me to stay only the ensuing 
night, and to depart before daybreak : he also cautioned me not 
to wake the man who now slept in my hut in the mine. 

" I did not like to spoil the only good suit of clothes of which 
I was possessed ; so, before I went down into the mine, I got 
from my master my old jacket, apron, and cap, in which being 
equipped, and furnished with a lantern, and rod for measuring, 
I descended into the mine. 

" I went to work as quietly as possible, surveyed the place 
exactly, and remembered what I had heard Mr. Y observe, 
'that people can never make their knowledge useful, if they have 
not been at the pains to make it exact.' I was determined to 
give him a proof of my exactness : accordingly I measured and 
minuted down every thing with the most cautious accuracy ; and, 
so intent was my mind upon my work, the thoughts of Clarke 


and his associates never came across me for a moment. Nay, I 
absolutely forgot the man in the hut, and am astonished he was 
not sooner waked. 

" What roused him at last was, I believe, the noise I made in 
loosening some earth and stones for specimens. A great stone 
came tumbling down, and immediately afterwards I heard one 
of the horses neigh, which showed me I had waked them at 
least; and I betook myself to a hiding-place, in the western 
gallery, where I kept quiet, for I believe a quarter of an hour, 
in order to give the horses and the man, if he were awake, time 
to go to sleep again. 

" I ventured out of my hiding-place too soon ; for, just as I 
left my nook, I saw the man at the end of the gallery. Instantly, 
upon the sight of me, he put both his hands before his face, gave 
a loud shriek, turned his back, and took to his heels with the 
greatest precipitation. I guessed that, as he said yesterday, he 
took me for the ghost of myself; and that his terror made him 
mistake my lantern for a blue taper. I had no chain ; but that 
I had a rod in my hand is most certain : and it is also true that I 
took advantage of his fears, to drive him out of my way ; for the 
moment he began to run, I shook my rod as fast and as loud as 
I could against the tin top of my lantern ; and I trampled with 
my feet as if I was pursuing him. 

"As soon as the coast was clear, I hastened back for my 
specimens ; which I packed up in my basket, and then decamped 
as fast as I could. This is the only time I ever walked in the 
western gallery with a blue taper in my hand, dragging a chain 
after nie, whatever the ghost-seer may report to the con- 

" I was heartily glad to get away, and to have thus happily 
accomplished the object of my journey. I carried my basket 
on my back for some miles, till I got to the place where a 
waggon put up ; and in this I travelled safely back to Exeter. 

" I determined not to show my model to Mr. Y , or the 

boys, till it should be as complete as I could make it. I got a 
good ingenious carpenter, who had been in the habit of working 
for the toy-shops, to help me ; and laid out the best part of my 
worldly treasure upon this my grand first project. I had new 
models made of the sieves for lueing, the box and irony Ji, tha 
c 3 



huddle, wreck, and tool 3 , beside some dozen of wooden workmen, 
wheelbarrows, &c. ; with which the carpenter, by my directions,, 
furnished my mine. 1 paid a smith and tinman, moreover, for 
models of our stamps, and blowing-house, and an iron grate for 
my box : besides, I had a lion rampant 4 , and other small 
matters, from the pewterer ; also a pair of bellows, finished by 
the glover ; for all which articles, as they were out of the 
common way, I was charged high. 

" It was some time, even when all this was ready, before we 
could contrive to make our puppets do their business properly : 
but patience accomplishes every thing. At last we got our 
wooden miners to obey us, and to perform their several tasks at 
the word of command ; that is to say, at the pulling of certain 
strings and wires, which we fastened to their legs, arms, heads, 
and shoulders : which wires, being slender and black, were at a 
little distance invisible to the spectators. When the skeletons 
were perfect, we fell to work to dress and paint them ; and I 
never shall forget the delight with which I contemplated our 
whole company of puppets : men, women, and children, fresh 
painted and dizened out, all in their proper colours. The 
carpenter could scarcely prevent me from spoiling them : I was 
so impatient to set them at work that I could not wait till their 
clothes were dry ; and I was every half hour rubbing my fingers 
upon their cheeks, to try whether the red paint was yet hard 

" With some pride, I announced my intended exhibition to 

Mr. Y ; and he appointed that evening for seeing it, saying 

that none but his own boys should be present at the first 
representation. It was for them alone it was originally de- 
signed ; but I was so charmed with my newly-finished work, 
that I would gladly have had all Exeter present at the exhi- 
bition. However, before night, I was convinced of my friend 
Mr. Y 's superior prudence : the whole thing, as the car- 
penter said, went off pretty well ; but several disasters happened 
which I had not foreseen. There was one stiff old fellow, whose 
arms, twitch them which way I would, I could nevor get to 

3 The names of vessels and machines used in the Cornish tin-mines. 

4 A lion rampant is stamped on the hlock tin which is brought thence. 



bend : and an obstinate old woman, who would never do any 
thing else but curtsy, when I wanted her to kneel down and to 
do her work. My children sorted their heaps of rubbish and 
ore very dexterously; excepting one unlucky little chap, who, 
from the beginning, had his head, somehow or other, turned the 
wrong way upon his shoulders; and I could never manage, all 
the night, to set it right again : it was in vain I flattered myself 
that his wry neck would escape observation ; for, as he was one 
of the wheelbarrow boys, he was a conspicuous figure in the 
piece ; and, whenever he appeared, wheeling or emptying his 
barrow, I to my mortification heard repeated peals of laughter 
from the spectators, in which even my patron, notwithstanding 
his good-natured struggles against it for some time, was at last 
compelled to join. 

" I, all the while, was wiping my forehead behind my show- 
box; for I never was in such a bath of heat in my life : not the 
hardest day's work I ever wrought in the mine made me one 
half so hot as setting these puppets to work. 

" When my exhibition was over, good Mr. Y came to me, 

and consoled me for all disasters, by the praises he bestowed 
upon my patience and ingenuity : he . showed me that he knew 
the difficulties with which I had to contend : and he mentioned 
the defects to me in the kindest manner, and how they might be 
remedied. ' I see,' said he, smiling, ' that you hava endeavoured 
to make something useful for the entertainment of my boys ; 
and I will take pains to make it turn out advantageously to 

"The next morning I went to look at my show-box, which 

Mr. Y had desired me to leave in his study ; and I was 

surprised to see the front of the box, which I had left open for 
the spectators, filled up with boards, and having a circular glass 
in the middle. The eldest boy, who stood by enjoying my 
surprise, bid me look in, and tell him what I saw, What was 
my astonishment, when I first looked through this glass — ' As 
large as the life ! — As large as the life !' cried I, in admiration — 
' I see the puppets, the wlieelbarroivs, every thing as large as 

" Mr. Y then told me, that it was by his grandson's 



directions that this glass, which he said was called a magnifying- 
glass, or convex-lens, was added to my show-box. ' He makes 
you a present of it; and now,' added he, smiling, 'get all your 
little performers into order, and prepare for a second representa- 
tion : I will send for a clock-maker in this town, who is an 
ingenious man, and will show you how to manage properly the 
motions of your puppets ; and then we will get a good pair .'er to 
paint them for you.' 

" There was at this time, in Exeter, a society of literary gentle- 
men, who met once a week at each other's houses. Mr. Y 

was one of these ; and several of the principal families in 
Exeter, especially those who had children, came on the appointed 
evening to see the model of the Cornwall tin-mine, which, with 
the assistance of the clock-maker and painter, was now become 
really a show worth looking at. I made hut few blunders this 
time, and the company were indulgent enough to pardon these, 
and to express themselves well pleased with my little exhibition. 
They gave me, indeed, solid marks of their satisfaction, which 

were quite unexpected : after the exhibition, Mr. Y 's 

youngest grandchild, in the name of the rest of the company, 
presented me with a purse, containing the contributions which 
had been made for me. 

" After repaying all my expenses for my journey and 
machinery, I found I had six guineas and a crown to spare. So 
I thought myself a rich man ; and, having never seen so much 
money together in my life before, as six golden guineas and 
a crown, I should, most probably, like the generality of people 
who come into the possession of unexpected wealth, have be- 
come extravagant, had it not been for the timely advice of my 
kind monitor, Mr. Y . When I showed him a pair of Chi- 
nese tumblers, which I had bought from a pedlar for twice as 
much as they were worth, merely because they pleased my 
fancy, he shook his head, and observed that I might, before my 
death, want this very money to buy a loaf of bread. ' If you 
spend your money as fast as you get it, Jervas,' said he, 
'no matter how ingenious or industrious you are, you will 
always be poor. Remember the good proverb that says, In- 
dustry is Fortune s right hand, and Frugality her left;' a proverb 



which has been worth ten times more to me than all my little 
purse contained : so true it is, that those do not always give 
most who give money." 


** I had soon reason to rejoice at having thrown away no more 
money on baubles, as I had occasion for my whole stock to fit 

myself out for a new way of life. 4 Jervas,' said Mr. Y to 

me, 4 1 have at last found an occupation, which I hope will suit 
you.' — Unknown to me, he had been, ever since he first saw my 
little model, intent upon turning it to my lasting advantage. 
Among the gentlemen of the society which I have before men- 
tioned, there was one who had formed a design of sending some 
well-informed lecturer through England, to exhibit models of the 

machines used in manufactories : Mr. Y purposely invited 

this gentleman the evening that I exhibited my tin-mine, and 
proposed to him that I should be permitted to accompany his 

lecturer. To this he agreed. Mr. Y told me that although 

the person who was fixed upon as lecturer was not exactly the 
sort of man he should have chosen, yet as he was a relation 
of the gentleman who set the business on foot, no objection 
could well be made to him. 

" I was rather daunted by the cold and haughty look with 
which my new master, the lecturer, received me when I was 

presented to him. Mr. Y , observing this, whispered to me 

at parting. 4 Make yourself useful, and you will soon be agree- 
able to him. We must not expect to find friends ready made 
wherever we go in the world : we often have to make friends for 
ourselves with great pains and care.' It cost me both pains and 
care, I know, to make this lecturer my friend. He was what is 
called born a gentleman ; and he began by treating me as a low- 
born upstart, who, being perfectly ignorant, wanted to pass for 
a self-taught genius. That I was low-born, I did not attempt to 
conceal ; nor did I perceive that I had any reason to be ashamed 
of my birth, or of having raised myself by honest means to a 
station above that in which I was born. I was proud of this 
circumstance, and therefore it was no torment to me to hear the 



continual hints which my well-born master threw out upon thii 
subject. I moreover never pretended to any knowledge which 
I had not; so that, by degrees, notwithstanding his prejudices, 
lie began to feel that I had neither the presumption of an up- 
start, nor of a self-taught genius. I kept in mind the counse. 

given to me by Mr. Y , to endeavour to make myself useful 

to my employer; but it was no easy matter to do this at first, 
because he had such a dread of my awkwardness that he would 
never let me touch any of his apparatus. I was always left to 
stand like a cipher beside him whilst he lectured; and I had 
regularly the mortification of hearing him conclude his lecture 
with, ' Now, gentlemen and ladies, I will not detain you any 
longer from what, I am sensible, is much better worth your 
attention than any thing I can offer — Mr. Jervass puppet-show.' 

" It happened one day that he sent me with a shilling, as he 
thought, to pay a hostler for the feeding of his horse ; as I 
rubbed the money between my finger and thumb, I perceived 
that the white surface came off, and the piece looked yellow : I 
recollected that my master had the day before been showing 
some experiments with quicksilver and gold, and that he had 
covered a guinea with quicksilver : so I immediately took the 
money back, and my master, for the first time in his life, 
thanked me very cordially ; for this was in reality a guinea, and 
not a shilling. He was also surprised at my directly mentioning 
the experiment he had shown. 

" The next day that he lectured, he omitted the offensive 
conclusion about Mr. Jervas's puppet-show. I observed, farther, 
to my infinite satisfaction, that after this affair of the guinea, he 
was not so suspicious of my honesty as he used to appear to be : he 
now yielded more to his natural indolence, and suffered me to 
pack up his things for him, and to do a hundred little services 
which formerly he used roughly to refuse at my hands ; saying, 
i I had rather do it myself, sir,' or, ' I don't like to have any 
body meddle with my things, Mr. Jervas.' But his tone 
changed, and it was now, ' Jervas, I'll leave you to put up these 
things, whilst I go and read;' — or, 'Jervas, will you see that 
I leave none of my goods behind me, there's a good lad?' — In 
truth, he was rather apt to leave his goods behind him : he was 
the most absent and forgetful man alive. During the first half 



year we travelled together, whilst he attempted to take care of 
his own things, I counted that he lost two pair and a half of 
slippers, one boot, three night-caps, one shirt, and fifteen pocket- 
handkerchiefs. Many of these losses, I make no doubt, were 
set down in his imagination to my account whilst he had no 
opinion of my honesty ; but I am satisfied that he was after- 
wards thoroughly convinced of the injustice of his suspicions, 
as, from the time that I had the charge of his goods, as he called 
them, to the day we parted, including a space of above four 
years and a half, he never lost any thing but one red night-cap, 
which, to the best of my belief, he sent in his wig one Sunday 
morning to the barber's, but which never came back again, and 
an old ragged blue pocket-handkerchief, which he said he put 
under his pillow, or into his boot, when he went to bed at night. 
He had an odd way of sticking his pocket-handkerchief into his 
boot, 'that he might be sure to find it in the morning.' I sus- 
pect the handkerchief was carried down in the boot when it was 
taken to be cleaned. He was, however, perfectly certain that 
these two losses were not to be imputed to any carelessness of 
mine. He often said he was obliged to me for the attention 
I paid to his interests ; he treated me now very civilly, and 
would sometimes condescend to explain to me in private what 
[ did not understand in his public lectures. 

" I was presently advanced to the dignity of his secretary. 
He wrote a miserably bad hand : and his manuscripts were so 
scratched and interlined, that it was with the utmost difficulty 
he could decipher his own writing, when he Avas obliged to have 
recourse to his notes in lecturing. He was, moreover, extremely 
near-sighted ; and he had a strange trick of wrinkling up the 
skin on the bridge of his nose when he was perplexed : alto- 
gether, his look was so comical when he began to pore over 
these papers of his, that few of the younger part of our audiences 
could resist their inclination to laugh. This disconcerted him 
beyond measure ; and he was truly glad to accept my offer of 
copying out his scrawls fairly in a good bold round hand. I 
could now write, if I may say it without vanity, an excellent 
hand, and could go over his calculations as far as the first four 
rules of arithmetic were concerned ; so that I became quite his 
factotum: and I thought myself rewarded for all my pains, by 



having opportunities of gaining every day some fresh piec« 
of knowledge from the perusal of the notes which I transcribed. 

" It was now that I felt most thoroughly the advantage of 
having learned to read and write : stores of useful information 
•were opened to me, and my curiosity and desire to inform myself 
-were insatiable. I often sat up half the night reading and 
writing : I had free access now to all my fellow-traveller's books, 
and I thought I could never study them enough. 

" At the commencement of my studies, my master often 
praised my diligence, and would show me where to look for 
what I wanted in his books, or explain difficulties : I looked up 
to him as a miracle of science and learning ; nay, I was actually 
growing fond of him, but this did not last long. In process of 
time, he grew shy of explaining things to me ; he scolded me for 
thumbing his books, though, God knows, my thumbs were always 
cleaner than his own, and he thwarted me continually upon some 
pretence or other. I could not for some time conceive the cause 
of this change in my master's behaviour : indeed it was hard for 
me to guess or believe that he was become jealous of the talents 
and knowledge of a poor lad, whose ignorance he, but a few 
years before, had so much despised and derided. I was the more 
surprised at this new turn of his mind, because I was conscious 
that, instead of becoming more conceited, I had of late become 
more humble ; but this humility was, by my suspicious master, 
attributed to artifice, and tended more than any thing to confirm 
him in his notion that I had formed a plan to supplant him in his 
office of lecturer, a scheme which had never entered into my 
head. I was thunderstruck when he one day said to me, ' You. 
need not study so hard, Mr. Jervas ; for I promise you that, 

even with Mr. Y 's assistance, and all your art, you will not 

be able to supplant me, clever as, with all affected humility, you 
think yourself.' 

" The truth lightened upon me at once. Had he been a judge 
of the human countenance, he must have seen my innocence in 
my looks : but he was so fixed in his opinion, that I knew any 
protestations I could make of my never having thought of the 
scheme he imputed to me, would serve only to confirm him in 
his idea of my dissimulation. I contented myself with returning 
to him his books and his manuscripts, and thenceforward with- 



drew my attention from his lectures, to which I had always till 
now been one of the most eager auditors ; by these proceedings 
I hoped to quiet his suspicions. I no longer applied myself to 
any studies in which he was engaged, to show him that all com- 
petition with him was far from my thoughts ; and I have since 
reflected that this fit of jealousy of his, which I at the time 
looked upon as a misfortune, because it stopped me short in pur- 
suits which were highly agreeable to my taste, was in fact of 
essential service to me. My reading had been too general ; and 
I had endeavoured to master so many things, that I was not 
likely to make myself thoroughly skilled in any. As a black- 
smith said once to me, when he was asked why he was not both 
blacksmith and whitesmith, ' The smith that will meddle with all 
things may go shoe the goslings ; ' an old proverb, which, from 
its mixture of drollery and good sense, became ever after a 
favourite of mine. 

" Having returned my master's books, I had only such to read 
as I could purchase or borrow for myself, and I became very 
careful in my choice : I also took every opportunity of 
learning all I could from the conversation of sensible people, 
wherever we went ; and I found that one piece of knowledge 
helped me to another often when I least expected it. And this 
I may add, for the encouragement of others, that every thing 
which I learned accurately was, at some time or other of my life, 
of use to me. 

" After having made a progress through England, my fellow- 
traveller determined to try his fortune in the metropolis, and to 
give lectures there to young people during the winter season. 
Accordingly, we proceeded towards London, taking Woolwich 
in our way, where we exhibited before the young gentlemen of 
the military academy. My master, who, since he had withdrawn 
his notes from my hands, had no one to copy them fairly, found 
himself, during his lecture, in some perplexity ; and, as he exhi- 
bited his usual odd contortions upon this occasion, the young 
gentlemen could not restrain their laughter: he also prolonged 
his lecture more than his audience liked, and several yawned 
terribly, and made signs of an impatient desire to see what was 
in my box, as a relief from their fatigue. This my master 
■quickly perceived, and, being extremely provoked, he sp^ke to 



me with a degree of harshness and insolence which, as I bore h 
with temper, prepossessed the young company in my favour. 
He concluded his lecture with the old sentence : ' Gentlemen, I 
shall no longer detain you from what I am sure is much better 
worthy of your attention than any thing I can offer, viz. Mr. 
Jervas's puppet-show.' This was an unlucky speech on the 
present occasion, for it happened that every body, after having 
seen what he called my puppet-show, was precisely of thin 
opinion. My master grew more and more impatient, and wanted 
to hurry me away, but one spirited young man most warmly took 
me and my tin-mine under his protection : I stood my ground, 
insisting upon my right to finish my exhibition, as my master had 
been allowed full time to finish his. The young gentleman who 
supported me was as well pleased by my present firmness as he 
had been by my former patience. At parting he made a hand- 
some collection for me, which I refused to accept, taking only 
the regular price. ' Well,' said he, ' you shall be no loser by 
this. You are going to town ; my father is in London ; here is 
his direction. I'll mention you to him the next time I write 
home, and you'll not be the worse for that.' 

" As soon as we got to London, I went according to my 
direction. The young gentleman had been more punctual in 
writing home than young gentlemen sometimes are. I was 
appointed to come with my models the next evening, when a 
number of young people were collected, beside the children of 
the family. The young spectators gathered round me at one 
end of a large saloon, asking me innumerable questions after the 
exhibition was over ; whilst the master of the house, who was an 
East India director, was walking up and down the room, con- 
versing with a gentleman in an officer's uniform. They were, 
as I afterwards understood, talking about the casting of some 
guns at Woolwich for the East India Company. 'Charles,' said 
the director, coming to the place where we were standing, and 
tapping one of his sons on the shoulder, 1 do you recollect what 
your brother told us about the proportion of tin which is used in 
casting brass cannon at Woolwich?' The young gentleman 
answered that he could not recollect, but referred his father to 
me; adding, that his brother told him I was the person from 
whom he had the information. My memory served me exactly 



and I had reason to rejoice that I had not neglected the 
opportunity of gaining this knowledge, during our short stay at 
Woolwich. The East India director, pleased with my answering 
his first question accurately, condescended, in compliance with 
his children's entreaties, to examine my models, and questioned 
me upon a variety of subjects: at length he observed to the 
gentleman with whom he had been conversing, that I explained 
myself well, that I knew all I did know accurately, and that I 
had the art of captivating the attention of young people. ' I do 
think,' concluded he, 'that he would answer Dr. Bell's descrip- 
tion better than any person I have seen.' He then inquired 
particulai'ly into my history and connexions, all of which I told 

him exactly. He took down the direction to Mr. Y , and 

my good master (as I shall always call Mr. R ), and to 

several other gentlemen, at whose houses I had been during the 
last three or four years, telling me that he would write to them 
about me ; and that if he found my accounts of myself were as 
exact as my knowledge upon other subjects, he thought he 
could place me in a vei-y eligible situation. The answers to 
these lettei-s were all perfectly satisfactory : he gave me the 

letter from Mr. R , saying ' you had better keep this letter, 

and take care of it ; for it will be a recommendation to you in 
any part of the world where courage and fidelity are held in 
esteem.' Upon looking into this letter, I found that my good 
master had related, in the handsomest manner, the whole of my 
conduct about the discovery of the vein in his mine. 

" The director now informed me that, if I had no objection to 
go to India, I should be appointed to go out to Madras as an 
assistant to Dr. Bell, one of the directors of the asylum for the 
instruction of orphans ; an establishment which is immediately 
under the auspices of the East India Company, and which does 
them honour 5 . 

" The salary which was offered me was munificent beyond my 
utmost expectations ; and the account of the institution, which 
was put into my hands, charmed me. I speedily settled all my 
concerns with the lecturer, who was in great astonishment that 

5 Vide a small pamphlet, printed for Cadell and Davies, entitled, " An 
Experiment in Education, made at the Male Asylum of Madras, by the 
Rev. Dr. A. Bell." 



this appointment had not fallen upon him. To console him for 
the last time, I showed him a passage in Dr. Bell's pamphlet, in 
which it is said that the doctor prefers to all others, for teaching 
at his school, youths who have no fixed hahits as tutors, and who 
will implicitly follow his directions. I was at this time but 
nineteen : my master was somewhat appeased by this view of 
the affair, and we parted, as I wished, upon civil terms; though 
I could not feel much regret at leaving him. I had no pleasure 
in living with one who would not let me become attached to 
him ; for, having early met with two excellent friends and 
masters, the agreeable feelings of gratitude and affection were in 
a manner necessary to my happiness. 

" Before I left England, I received new proofs of Mr. 11 's 

goodness : he wrote to me to say that, as I was going to a distant 
country, to which a small annuity of ten guineas a year could 
not easily be remitted, he had determined to lay out a sum equal 
to the value of the annuity he had promised me, in a manner 
which he hoped would be advantageous : he further said, that as 
the vein of the mine with which I had made him acquainted 
turned out better than he expected, he had added the value of 
fifty guineas more than my annuity ; and that if I would go to Mr. 
Ramsden's, mathematical instrument maker, in Piccadilly, I should 
receive all he had ordered to be ready for me. At Mr. Ramsden's 
I found ready to be packed up for me two small globes, siphons, 
prisms, an air-gun and an air-pump, a speaking trumpet, a small ap- 
paratus for showing the gases, and an apparatus for freezing water. 
Mr. Ramsden informed me that these were not all the things Mr. 

R had bespoken ; that he had ordered a small balloon, and 

a portable telegraph, in form of an umbrella, which would be 
sent home, as he expected, in the course of the next week. Mr. 
Ramsden also had directions to furnish me with a set of mathe- 
matical instruments of his own making. ' But,' added he with a 
smile, 1 you will be lucky if you get them soon enough out of 
my hands.' In fact, I believe I called a hundred times in the 
course of a fortnight upon Ramsden, and it was only the day 
before the fleet sailed that they were finished and delivered to 

" I cannot here omit to mention an incident that happened in 
one of my walks to Ramsden's : I was rather late, and was 



pushing my way hastily through a crowd that was gathered at the 
turning of a street, when a hawker by accident flapped a bundle 
of wet hand-bills in my eyes, and at the same instant screamed in 
my ears, ' The last dying speech and confession of Jonathan 
Clarke, ivJio was executed on Monday, the 17th instant.' — Jonathan 
Clarke ! The name struck my ears suddenly, and the words 
shocked me so much that I stood fixed to the spot ; and it was 
not till the hawker had passed by me some yards, and was 
beginning with ' The last dying speech and confession of Jonathan 
Clarice, the Cornwall miner,' that I recollected myself enough to 
speak : I called after the hawker in vain : he was bawling too 
loud to hear me, and I was forced to run the whole length of the 
street before I could overtake him, and get one of the hand-bills. 
On reading it, I could have no doubt that it was really the last 
dying speech of my old enemy Clarke. His birth, parentage, 
and every circumstance, convinced me of the truth. Amongst 
other things in his confession, I came to a plan he had laid to 
murder a poor lad in the tin-mine, where he formerly worked ; 
and he thanked God that this plan was never executed, as the 
boy providentially disappeared the very night on which the 
murder was to have been perpetrated. He further set forth 
that, after being turned away by his master, and obliged to fly 
from Cornwall, he came up to London, and worked as a coal- 
heaver for a little while, but soon became what is called a mud- 
lark ; that is, a plunderer of the ships' cargoes that unload in 
the Thames. He plied this abominable trade for some time, 
drinking every day to the value of what he stole, till, in a 
quarrel at an ale-house about the division of some articles to be 
sold to a receiver of stolen goods, he struck the woman of the 
house a blow, of which she died ; and, as it was proved that he 
had long borne her malice for some old dispute, Clarke was on 
his trial brought in guilty of wilful murder, and sentenced to be 

" I shuddered whilst I read all this. — To such an end, after 
the utmost his cunning could do, was this villain brought at 
last ! How thankful I was that I did not continue his associate 
in my boyish days ! My gratitude to my good master increased 
upon the reflection that it was his humanity which had raised 
me from vice and misery, to virtue and happiness. 



"We sailed from the Downs the 20th of March, one thousand 
seven hundred and . But why I tell you this I do not know ; 
except it he in compliance with the custom of all voyagers, who 
think that it is important to the world to know on what day 
they sailed from this or that port. I shall not, however, imitate 
them in giving you a journal of the wind, or a copy of the ship's 
log-hook. Suffice it to say, that we arrived safely at Madras, 
after a voyage of about the usual number of months and days, 
during all which I am sorry that I have not for your enter- 
tainment any escape or imminent danger of shipwreck to relate ; 
nor even any description of a storm or a water-spout. 

" You will, I am afraid, be much disappointed to find that, 
upon my arrival in India, where doubtless you expected that I 
should like others have wonderful adventures, I began to live at 
Dr. Bell's asylum in Madras a quiet regular life ; in which for 
years I may safely say, that every day in the week was extremely 
like that which preceded it. This regularity was nowise irksome 
to me, notwithstanding that I had for some years, in England, 
been so much used to a roving way of life. I had never any 
taste for rambling ; and under Dr. Bell, who treated me wi* K 
strict justice, as far as the business of the asylum was concerned, 
and with distinguished kindness in all other circumstances, 1 
enjoyed as much freedom as I desired. I never ljad those 
absurd vague notions of liberty, which render men uneasy under 
the necessary restraints of all civilized society, and which do not 
make them the more fit to live with savages. The young people 
who were under my care gradually became attached to me, and 
I to them. I obeyed Dr. Bell's directions exactly in all things ; 
and he was pleased to say, after I had been with him for some 
time, that he never had any assistant who was so entirely 
agreeable to him. When the business of the day was over, I 
often amused myself, and the elder boys, with my apparatus for 
preparing the gases, my speaking-trumpet, air-gun, &c. 

" One day, I think it was in the fourth year of my residence 
at Madras, Dr. Bell sent for me into his closet, and asked me if 
I had ever heard of a scholar of his, of the name of William 
Smith, a youth of seventeen years of age ; who, in the year 
1791, attended the embassy to Tippoo Sultan, when the hostage 
princes were restored ; and who went through a course of 



experiments in natural philosophy, in the presence of the sultan. 
I answered Dr. Bell that, before I left England, I had read, ul 
his account of the asylum, extracts from this William Smith's 
letters, whilst he was at the sultan's court ; and that; I remem- 
bered all the experiments he had exhibited perfectly well ; and 
also that he was detained, by the sultan's order, nineteen days 
after the embassy had taken leave, for the purpose of instructing 
two aruzbegs, or lords, in the vise of an extensive and elegant 
mathematical apparatus, presented to Tippoo by the government 
at Madras 6 . 

6 Extracts from William Smith's Letters to Dr. Dell, 
(vide the iramphlet before mentioned.) 

' Devanclli Fort, April 8, 1792. 


' I take the liberty of informing you that we arrived here the 28th uit. 
without any particular occurrence in the way. The day after our arrival we 
made our first visit to the sultan ; and he entertained us at his court for 
upwards of three hours. 

' On the 1st instant Captain Dovetoun sent me an order to open the boxes, 
and lay out the machines, to show them to the sultan. Accordingly, on the 
third, I was sent for, and I exhibited the following experiments ; viz. head 
and wig ; dancing images ; electric stool; cotton fired; small receiver and 
6tand ; hemispheres; Archimedes' screw; siphon; Tantalus's cup; water- 
pump ; condensing engine, &c. Captain Dovetoun was present, and ex- 
plained, as I went on, to the sultan, who has given us an instance of his 
being acquainted with some of these experiments. He has shown us a con- 
densing engine made by himself, which spouted water higher than ours, lie 
desired me to teach two men, his aruzbegs. 

****** * 

' I can assure you that Tippoo Sultan was mightily pleased with the 
electric machine. He Avas prepared for every experiment I exhibited, 
except the firing of the inflammable air. 


'It did cost me several minutes before the firing of the inflammable air 
proved successful ; * * * during which time he was in a very impatient 
emotion ; and, when that was done, it did indeed surprise him. He desired 
me to go over it three times. 

' I take the liberty to write for your information the familiar discourse 
Tippoo Sultan was pleased to enter into with me, that took place at the close 
of the experiments. 

' There were some silver trumpets, newly made, brought in to him for 
his inspection, and which he desired the trumpeters to sound hauw and 
jamv; i. c. come and go; after which, he asked me if they were like those 

Popular Tales. d 


"'Well,' said Dr. Bell, 'since that time Tippoo Sultan has 
been at wai', and has had no leisure, I suppose, for the study of 
philosophy, or mathematics ; hut now that he has just made 
peace, and wants something to amuse him, he has sent to the 
government at Madras, to request that I will permit some of 
my scholars to pay a second visit at his court to refresh the 
memory of the aruzbegs, and, I presume, to exhibit some new 
wonders for Tippoo's entertainment.' 

" Dr. B. proposed to me to go on this embassy : accordingly, 
I prepared all my apparatus, and, having carefully remarked 
what experiments Tippoo had already seen, I selected such as 
would be new to him. I packed up my speaking-trumpet, my 
apparatus for freezing water, and that for exhibiting the gases, 
my balloon and telegraph, and with these and my model of the 
tin-mine, which I took by Dr. Bell's advice, I set out with two 
of his eldest scholars upon our expedition. We were met on 
the entrance of Tippoo's dominions by four hircarrahs or 
soldiers, whom the sultan sent as a guard to conduct us safely 
through his dominions. He received us at court the day after 
our arrival. Unaccustomed as I was to Asiatic magnificence, I 

I saw at Madras. I answered, Yes ; but those at Madras are made of 
copper. He asked me again whether the tune was any thing like what I 
had ever heard. I answered, No. How then ? says he; and presently 
ordering the instrument to he put into my hands, desired me to blow. 
I told him, very civilly, that I could not blow. No ! says he : you could ; 
what are you afraid of ? I told him again that I spoke truth; and that I 
was brought up in a school where my master informed me what lying was, 
and always punished those boys that spoke untruths. 

* * * * * * * 

' June 11th. After this the sultan arose (five hours being elapsed) to quit 
the court, and desired the present (of a hundred rupees) to be delivered 
into my hands, with these words : " This is given you as a present for me 
trouble you took in performing those experiments, which verily pleased 
me and a command that I am to stay in the fort ten days; " after which,'" 
he continued, " I will send you to Kistnaghcrry, with two hircarrahs, in 
order to conduct you safely through my country." I returned the compli- 
ment with a salani, in the manner I was instructed; saying that I thank- 
fully accepted his present, and am willing to obey his commands. The 
language which the sultan used was the Carnatic Malabar. Mine very 
little differed from his. Poomhia was the interpreter of such terms as the 
sultan did not understand. 1 



confess that my eyes were at first so dazzled by the display of 
oriental pomp that, as I prostrated myself at the foot of the 
sultan's throne, I considered him as a personage high as human 
veneration could look upon. After having made my salam, 
or salutation, according to the custom of his court, as I was 
instructed to do, the sultan commanded me, by his interpreter, 
to display my knowledge of the arts and sciences, for the 
instruction and amusement of his court. 

" My boxes and machines had all been previously opened, 
and laid out : I was prepared to show my apparatus for freezing, 
but Tippoo's eye was fixed upon the painted silk balloon ; and 
with prodigious eagerness he interrupted me several times with 
questions about that great empty bag. I endeavoured to make 
him understand as well as I could, by my interpreter and his 
own, that this great empty bag was to be filled with a species of air 
lighter than the common air; and that, when filled, the bag 
which I informed him was in our country called a balloon, 
would mount far above his palace. No sooner was this repeated 
to him, by the interpreter, than the sultan commanded me 
instcmthj to fill the balloon ; and when I replied that it could 
not be done instantly, and that I was not prepared to exhibit 
it on this day, Tippoo gave signs of the most childish impatience. 
He signified to me, that since I could not show him what he 
wanted to see, the sultan would not see what. I wanted to show. 
I replied, through his interpreter, in the most respectful but firm 
manner, that no one would be so presumptuous as to show to 
Tippoo Sultan, in his own court, any thing which he did not 
desire to see : that it was in compliance with his wishes that I 
came to his court, from which, in obedience to his commands, I 
should at any time be ready to withdraw. A youth, who stood 
at the right hand of Tippoo's throne, seemed much to approve or 1 
this answer, and the sultan, assuming a more composed and dig- 
nified aspect, signified to me that he was satisfied to await for 
the sight of the filling of the great bag till the next day ; and 
that he should, in the mean time, be well pleased to see what I 
was now prepared to show. 

" The apparatus ftJr freezing, which we then exhibited, seemed 
to please him ; but I observed that he was, during a great part 
of the time whilst I was explaining it, intent upon something 

d 2 



else ; and no sooner had I done speaking than lie caused to be 
produeed the condensing engines, made by himself, which he 
formerly showed to William Smith, and which he said spouted 
water higher than any of ours. The sultan, I perceived, 
was much more intent upon displaying his small stock of 
mechanical knowledge than upon increasing it; and the mixture 
of vanity and ignorance, which he displayed upon this and many 
subsequent occasions, considerably lessened the awe which his 
external magnificence at first excited in my mind. Sometimes 
he would put himself in competition with me, to show his cour- 
tiers his superiority ; but failing in these attempts, he would then 
treat me as a species of mechanic juggler, who was fit only to 
exhibit for the amusement of his court. When he saw my 
speaking-trumpet, which was made of copper, he at first looked 
at it with great scorn, and ordered his trumpeters to show me 
theirs, which were made of silver. As he had formerly done 
when my predecessor was at his court, he desired his trumpeters 
to sound through these trumpets the words hauw audjauw, i. e. 
come and go : but, upon trial, mine was found to be far superior 
to the sultan's : and I received intimation, through one of his- 
courtiers, that it would be prudent to offer it immediately to 
Tippoo. This I accordingly did, and he accepted it with the 
eagerness of a child who has begged and obtained a new play- 


" The next day, Tippoo and his whole court assembled to see 
my balloon. Tippoo was seated in a splendid pavilion, and his 
principal courtiers stood in a semicircle on each side of him : the 
youth, whom I formerly observed, was again on his right hand, 
and his eyes were immoveably fixed upon my balloon, which had 
been previously filled and fastened down by cords. I had the 
curiosity to ask who this youth was : I was informed he was the 
sultan's eldest son, Prince Abdul Calie. I had not time to make 
any farther inquiries, for Tippoo now ordered a signal to be given, 
as had been previously agreed upon. I instantly cut the cords 
which held the balloon, and it ascended with a rapid but graceful 
motion, to the unspeakable astonishment and d ; »ght of all the 



spectators. Some clapped their hands and shouted, others looked 
up in speechless ecstasy, and in the general emotion all ranks for 
an instant were confounded : even Tippoo Sultan seemed at this 
interval to be forgotten, and to forget himself, in the admiration 
of this new wonder. 

" As soon as the balloon was out of sight, the court returned 
to their usual places, the noise subsided, and the sultan, as if 
desirous to fix the public attention upon himself, and to show 
his own superior magnificence, issued orders immediately to his 
treasurer to present me, as a token of his royal approbation, 
with two hundred star pagodas. When I approached to make 
my salam and compliment of thanks, as I was instructed, the 
sultan, who observed that some of the courtiers already began 
to regard me with envy, as if my reward had been too great, 
determined to divert himself with their spleen, and to astonish 
me with his generosity : he took from his finger a diamond ring, 
which he presented to me by one of his officers. The young 
prince, Abdul Calie, whispered to his father whilst I was with- 
drawing, and I soon afterwards received a message from the 
sultan, requesting, or, in other words, ordering me to remain 
some time at his court, to instruct the young prince, his son, in 
the use of my European machines, for which they had in their 
language no names. 

" This command proved a source of real pleasure to me ; for 
I found Prince Abdul Calie not only a youth of quick appre- 
hension, but of a most amiable disposition, unlike the imperious 
.and capricious temper which I had remarked in his father. 
Prince Abdul Calie had been, when he was about twelve years 
old, one of the hostage princes left with Lord Cornwallis at 
Seringapatam. With that politeness which is seldom to be found 
in the sons of eastern despots, this prince, after my first intro- 
duction, ordered the magnificent palanquin, given to him by 
Lord Cornwallis, to be shown to me ; then pointing to the 
enamelled snakes which support the panels, and on which the 
sun at that instant happened to shine, Prince Abdul Calie was 
pleased to say, 'The remembrance of your noble countryman's 
kindness to me is as fresh and lively in my soul as those colours 
now appear to my eye.' 

' Another thing gave me a good opinion of this young prince; 



he did not seem to value presents merely by their costliness ; 
whether he gave or received, he considered the feelings of 
others ; and I know that he often excited in my mind more 
gratitude by the gift of a mere trifle, by a word or a look, than 
his ostentatious father could by the most valuable donations. 
Tippoo, though he ordered his treasurer to pay me fifty rupees 
per day, whilst I was in his service, yet treated me with a 
species of insolence; which, having some of the feelings of a 
free-born Briton about me, I found it difficult to endure with 
patience. His son, on the contrary, showed that he felt obliged 
to me for the little instruction I was able to give him ; and 
never appeared to think that, as a prince, he could pay for all 
the kindness, as well as the service of his inferiors, by pagodas 
or rupees : so true it is that attachment cannot be bought ; and 
those who wish to have friends, as well as servants, should keep 
this truth constantly in mind. My English spirit of inde- 
pendence induced me to make these and many more such 
reflections whilst I was at Tippoo's court. 

" Every day afforded me fresh occasion to form comparisons 
between the sultan and his son ; and my attachment to my 
pupil every day increased. My pupil ! It was with astonish- 
ment I sometimes reflected that a young prince was actually my 
pupil. Thus an obscure individual, in a country like England, 
where arts, sciences, and literature are open to all ranks, may 
obtain a degree of knowledge which an eastern despot, in all his 
pride, would gladly purchase with ingots of his purest gold. 

" One evening, after the business of the day was over, Tippoo 
Sultan came into his son's apartment, whilst I was explaining to 
the young prince the use of some of the mathematical instru- 
ments in my pocket-case. ' We are well acquainted with these 
things,' said the sultan in a haughty tone : 1 the government of 
Madras sent us such things as those, with others, which are now 
in the possession of some of my aruzbegs, who have doubtless 
explained them sufficiently to the prince my son.' Prince 
Abdul Calie modestly replied, 1 that he had never before been 
made to understand them ; for that the aruzbeg, who had 
formerly attempted to explain them, had not the art of making 
things so clear to him as I had done.' 

"I felt a glow of pleasure at this compliment, and at the 



consciousness that I deserved it. How little did I imagine, 
when I used to sit ap at nights studying my old master's books, 
that one of them would be the means of procuring me such 
honour 7 . 

"'What is contained in that box?' said the sultan, pointing 
to the box which held the model of the tin-mine. ' I do not 
remember to have seen it opened in my presence.' 

" I replied that it had not been opened, because I feared that 
it was not worthy to be shown to him. But he commanded that 
it should instantly be exhibited ; and, to my great surprise, it 
seemed to delight him excessively : he examined every part, 
moved the wires of the puppets, and asked innumerable questions 
concerning our tin-mines. I was the more astonished at this, 
because I had imagined he would have considered every object 
of commerce as beneath the notice of a sultan. Nor could I 
guess why he should be peculiarly interested in this subject : but 
he soon explained this to me, by saying that he had, in his 
dominions, certain mines of tin, which he had a notion would, if 
properly managed, bring a considerable revenue to the royal 
treasury ; but that at present, through negligence or fraud, 
these mines were rather burdensome than profitable. 

" He inquired from me how my model came into my posses- 
sion ; and, when his interpreter told him that I made it myself, 
he caused the question and answer to be repeated twice, before 
he would believe that he understood me rightly. He next 
inquired whether I was acquainted with the art of mining; and 
how I came by my information : in short, he commanded me to 
relate my history. I replied that it was a long story, concerning 
only an obscure individual, and unworthy the attention of a 
great monarch : but he seemed this evening to have nothing to 
do but to gratify his curiosity, which my apology only served to 
increase. He again commanded me to relate my adventures, 
and I then told him the history of my early life. I was much 
flattered by the interest which the young prince took in my 

7 Jervas here alludes to a book entitled, "A Description of Pocket and 
Magazine Cases of Drawing Instruments : in which is explained the use of 
each instrument, and particularly of the sector and plain scale, Gunter-a 
Bcale, &c. By J. Banow, private teacher of mathematics." 



escape from the mine, and by the praises he bestowed on my 
fidelity to my master. 

" The sultan, on the contrary, heard me at first with curiosity, 
but afterwards with an air of incredulity. Upon observing this, 
I produced the letter from my good master to the East India 
director, which gave a full account of the whole affair. I put 
this letter into the hands of the interpreter, and with some 
difficulty he translated it into the Carnatic Malabar, which was 
the language the sultan used in speaking to me. 

" The letter, which had the counter-signatures of some of the 
East India Company's servants resident at Madras, whose names 
were well known to Tippoo, failed not to make a great impression 
in favour of my integrity : of my knowledge he had before a 
high opinion. He stood musing for some time, with his eyes 
fixed upon the model of the tin-mine ; and, after consulting with 
the young prince, as I guessed by their tones and looks, he bade 
his interpreter tell me that, if I would undertake to visit the tin- 
mines in his dominions, to instruct his miners how to work them, 
and to manage the ore according to the English fashion, 1 
should receive from the royal treasury a reward more than 
proportioned to my services, and suitable to the generosity of a 

" Some days were given me to consider of this proposal. 
Though tempted by the idea that I might realize, in a short 
time, a sum that would make me independent for the rest of my 
life, yet my suspicions of the capricious and tyrannical temper 
of Tippoo made me dread to have him for a master; and, above 
all, I resolved to do nothing without the express permission of 
Dr. Bell, to whom I immediately wrote. He seemed, by his 
answer, to think that such an opportunity of making my fortune 
was not to be neglected : my hopes, therefore, prevailed over 
my fears, and I accepted the proposal. 

" The presents which he had made me, and the salary allowed 
me during six weeks that I had attended the young prince, 
amounted to a considerable sum ; 500 star pagodas and 500 
rupees : all which I left, together with my ring, in the care of a 
great Gentoo merchant of the name of Omychund, who had 
shown me many civilities. With proper guides, and full powers 
from the sultan, I proceeded on my journey, and devoted myself 



with the greatest ardour to my undertaking. A very laborious 
and difficult undertaking it proved : for in no country are 
prejudices in favour of their own customs more inveterate, 
amongst workmen of every description, than in India ; and 
although I was empowered to inflict what punishment I thought 
proper on those who disobeyed, or even hesitated to fulfil my 
orders, yet, thank God ! I could never bring myself to have a 
poor slave tortured, or put to death, because he roasted ore in a 
manner which I did not think so good as my own method ; nor 
even because he was not so well convinced as I was of the 
advantages of our Cornwall smel ting-furnace. 

" My moderation was of more service to me, in the minds of 
the people, than the utmost violence I could have employed to 
enforce obedience. As I got by degrees some little knowledge 
of their language, I grew more and more acceptable to them ; 
and some few, who tried methods of my proposing, and found 
that they succeeded, were, by my directions, rewarded with the 
entire possession of the difference of profit between the old and 
new modes. This bounty enticed others ; and in time that 
change was accomplished by gentle means, which I had at first 
almost despaired of ever effecting. 

"When the works were in proper train, I despatched a 
messenger to the sultan's court, to request that he would be 
pleased to appoint some confidential person to visit the mines, in 
order to be an eye-witness of what had been done ; and I 
further begged, as I had now accomplished the object of the 
sultan's wishes, that I might be recalled, after deputing whom- 
soever he should think proper to superintend and manage the 
mines in my stead. I moreover offered, before I withdrew, to 
instruct the person who should be appointed. My messenger, 
after a long delay, returned to me, with a command from Tippoo 
Sultan to remain where I was till his further orders. For these 
I waited three months, and then, concluding that I was forgotten, 
I determined to set out to refresh Tippoo's memory. 

" I found him at Devanelli Fort, thinking of nothing less than 
of me or my tin-mines : he was busily engaged in making 
preparations for a war with some Soubha or other, whose name 
I forget, and all his ideas were bent on conquests and vengeance. 
He scarcely deigned to see, much less to listen to me * his 



treasurer gave me to understand that too much had already been 
lavished upon me, a stranger as I was; and that Tippoo's 
resources, at all events, would be now employed in carrying on 
schemes of war, not petty projects of commerce. Thus insulted, 
and denied all my promised reward, I could not but reflect 
upon the hard fate of those who attempt to serve capricious 

" I prepared as fast as possible to depart from Tippoo's court. 
The Hindoo merchant with whom I had lodged the pagodas and 
rupees promised to transmit them to me at Madras ; and he 
delivered to me the diamond ring which Tippoo had given to 
me during his fit of generosity, or of ostentation. The sultan, 
who cared no more what became of me, made no opposition to 
my departure : but I was obliged to wait a day or two for a 
guard, as the hircarrahs who formerly conducted me were now 
out upon some expedition. 

"Whilst I waited impatiently for their return, Prince Abdul 
Calie, who had not been during all this time at Devanelli Fort, 
arrived ; and when I went to take leave of him, lie inquired 
into the reason of mv sudden departure. In language as 
respectful as 1 could use, and with es much delicacy as I thought 
myself bound to observe, in speaking to a son of his father, I 
related the truth. The prince's countenance showed what he 
felt. He paused, and seemed to be lost in thought, for a few 
minutes : he then said to me, ' The sultan, my father, is at this 
time so intent upon preparations for war, that even I should 
despair of being listened to on any other subject. But you have 
in your possession, as I recollect, what might be useful to him 
either in war or peace ; and, if you desire it, I will speak of this 
machine to the sultan.' 

" I did not immediately know to what machine of mine the 
prince alluded; but he explained to me that he meant my 
portable telegraph, which would be of infinite use to Tippoo in 
conveying orders of intelligence across the deserts. I left the 
matter entirely to the prince, after returning him my very sincere 
thanks for being thus intei*ested in my concerns. 

" A few hours after this conversation, I was summoned into 
the sultan's presence. His impatience to make trial of the 
telegraphs was excessive ; and I, who but the day before had 



been almost trampled upon by the officers and lords of his 
court, instantly became a person of the greatest importance. 
The trial of the telegraphs succeeded beyond even my expecta- 
tions ; and the sultan was in a species of ecstasy on the 

" I cannot omit to notice an instance of the violence of his 
temper, and its sudden changes from joy to rage. One of his 
blacks, a gentle Hindoo lad, of the name of Saheb, was set to 
manage a telegraph at one of the stations, a few yards distant 
from the sultan. I had previously instructed Saheb in what he 
was to do ; but, from want of practice, he made some mistake, 
which threw Tippoo into such a transport of passion, that he in- 
stantly ordered the slave's head to be cut off! a sentence which 
would infallibly have been executed, if I had not represented that 
it would be expedient to suffer his head to remain on his shouldei's 
till the message was delivered by his telegraph ; because there 
was no one present who could immediately supply his place. 
Saheb then read off his message without making any new 
blunder ; and the moment the exhibition was over, I threw 
myself at the feet of the sultan, and implored him to pardon 
Saheb. I was not likely at tnis moment to be refused such a 
trifle ! Saheb was pardoned. 

" An order upon the treasurer for five hundred star pagodas, 
to reward my services at the royal tin-mines, was given to me ; 
and upon my presenting to Tippoo Sultan the portable telegraphs, 
on which his ardent wishes were fixed, he exclaimed : ' Ask any 
favour in the wide-extended power of Tippoo Sultan to confer, 
and it shall be granted.' 

" I concluded that this was merely an oriental figure of 
speech ; but I resolved to run the hazard of a refusal. I did not 
ask for a province, though this was in the wide-extended power 
of Tippoo Sultan to confer ; but as I had a great curiosity to see 
the diamond mines of Golconda, of which both in Europe and in 
India I had heard so much, I requested the sultan's permission 
to visit those which belonged to him. He hesitated ; but after 
saying some words to an officer near him, he bade his interpreter 
tell me that he granted my request. 

" Accordingly, after lodging my pagodas and rupees along 
with the rest in the hands of Omychund, the Gentoo merchant, 



who was a man of great wealth and credit, I set out in company 
with some diamond merchants who were going to Golconda. 
My curiosity was amply gratified by the sight of these celebrated 
mines ; and I determined that, when I returned to Europe, 
I would write a description of them. This description, how- 
ever, I shall spare you for the present, and proceed with my 

" The diamond merchants with whom I travelled had a great 
deal of business to transact at various places ; and this was the 
cause of much delay to me, which I could scarcely bear with 
patience ; for now that I had gratified my curiosity, I was ex- 
tremely desirous to return to Madras with my little treasure. 
The five yeaiV salary due to me by the East India Company, 
which I had never used, I had put out at interest at Madras, 
where sometimes the rate was as high as twelve per cent. ; 
and if you knew (said Mr. Jervas, addressing himself to the 
miners at Mr. R 's table) any thing of the nature of com- 
pound interest, you would perceive that I was in a fair way ta> 
get rich : foi', in the course of fourteen or fifteen years, any sum 
that is put out at compound interest, even in England, where the 
rate of legal interest is five per cent., becomes double ; that is, 
one hundred pounds put out at compound interest, in fourteen 
years, becomes two hundred. But few people have the patience, 
or the prudence, to make this use of their money. I was, how- 
ever, determined to employ all my capital in this manner; and I 
calculated that, in seven years, I should have accumulated a sum 
fully sufficient to support me all the rest of my life in ease and 

" Full of these hopes and calculations, I pursued my journey 
along with the merchants. Arrived at Devanelli Fort, I learned 
that the Soubha, with whom the sultan had been going to war, 
had given up the territory in dispute, and had pacified Tippoo 
by submissions and presents. Whether he chose peace or war 
was indifferent to me : I was intent on my private affairs, and 
I went immediately to Omychund, my banker, to settle them. I 
had taken my diamond ring with me to the mines, that 1 might 
compare it with others, and learn its value ; and I found that it 
was worth nearly treble what I had been offered for it. Omy- 
chund congratulated me upon this discovery, and we were just 



going to settle our accounts, when an officer came in, and, after 
asking whether I was not the young Englishman who had lately- 
visited the mines of Golconda, summoned me immediately to 
appear before the sultan. I was terrified, for I imagined I was 
perhaps suspected of having purloined some of the diamonds ; 
hut I followed the officer without hesitation, conscious of my 

" Tippoo Sultan, contrary to my expectations, received me 
with a smiling countenance ; and, pointing to the officer who 
accompanied me, asked me whether I recollected to have ever 
seen his face before ? I replied, No : but the sultan then in- 
formed me that this officer, who was one of his own guards, had 
attended me in disgiflse during my whole visit to the diamond 
mines ; and that he was perfectly satisfied of my honourable 
conduct. Then, after making a signal to the officer and all 
present to withdraw, he bade me approach nearer to him ; paid 
some compliments to my abilities, and proceeded to explain to 
me that he stood in farther need of my services ; and that, if I 
served him with fidelity, I should have no reason to complain, 
on my return to my own country, of his want of generosity. 

"All thoughts of war being now, as he told me, out of his 
mind, he had leisure for other projects to enrich himself; and 
he was determined to begin by reforming certain abuses, which 
had long tended to impoverish the royal treasury. I was at a 
loss to know whither this preamble would lead: at length, having 
exhausted his oriental pomp of words, he concluded by informing 
me that he had reason to believe he was terribly cheated in the 
management of his mines at Golconda ; that they were rented 
from him by a Feulinga Brahmin, as he called him, whose 
agreement with the adventurers in the mines was, that all the 
stones they found under a pago in weight were to be their own ; 
and all above this weight were to be his, for the sultan's use. 
Now it seems that this agreement was never honestly fulfilled by 
any of the parties : the slaves cheating the merchants, the mer- 
chants cheating the Feulinga Brahmin, and he, in his turn, 
defrauding the sultan ; so that, Tippoo assured me, he had often 
purchased, from diamond merchants, stones of a larger spread 
and finer water than any he could get directly from his own 



mines ; and that he had been frequently obliged to reward these 
merchants with rich vests, or fine horses, in order to encourage 
others to offer their diamonds 8 for sale. 

" I could not but observe, whilst Tippoo related all this, the 
great agitation of his looks and voice, which showed me the 
strong hold the passion for diamonds had upon his soul ; on 
which I should perhaps have made some wise reflections, but 
that people have seldom leisure or inclination to make wise 
reflections when standing in the presence of a prince as powerful 
and as despotic as Tippoo Sultan. 

"The service that he required from me w r as a very dangerous 
one ; no less than to visit the mines secretly by night, to search 
those small cisterns in which the workmen* leave the diamonds 
mixed with the sand, gravelly stuff, and red earth, to sink and 
drain off during their absence. I by no means relished this 
undertaking : besides that it would expose me to imminent 
danger, it was odious to my feelings to become a spy and an 
informer. This I stated to the sultan, but he gave no credit to 
this motive ; and, attributing my reluctance wholly to fear, he 
promised that he would take effectual measures to secure my 
safety ; and that, after I had executed this commission, he 
would immediately send a guard with me to Madras. I saw 
that a dark frown lowered on his brow, when I pei-sisted in 
declining this office ; but I fortunately bethought myself at this 
moment of a method of escaping the effects of his anger, without 
giving up my own principles. 

" I represented to him that the seizure of the diamonds in the 
cisterns, which he proposed, even should it afford him any 
convincing proofs of the dishonesty of the slaves and diamond 
merchants, and even if he could in future take effectual pre- 
cautions to secure himself from their frauds, would not be a 
source of wealth to him equal to one which I could propose. 
His avarice fixed his attention, and he eagerly commanded me 
to proceed. I then explained to him that one of his richest 
diamond-mines had been for some time abandoned ; because the 
workmen, having dug till they came to water, were then forced 

8 Philosophical Transactions, vol. ii. p. 472. 



to step for want of engines such as are known in Europe. Now, 
having observed that there was a rapid current at the foot of the 
mountain, on which I could erect a water-mil}, I offered to clear 
this valuable mine." 


« The sultan was pleased with the proposal ; but, recollecting 
how apt he was to change his humour, and how ill he received 
me when I returned from his tin-mines, I had the precaution to 
represent that, as this undertaking would be attended with con- 
siderable expense, it would be necessary that a year's salary 
should be advanced to me before my departure for Golconda ; 
and that, if the payments were not in future regularly made, 
I should be at liberty to resign my employment, and return to 
Madras. Prince Abdul Calie was present when the sultan 
pledged his word to this, and gave me full powers to employ 
certain of his artificers and workmen. 

" I shall not trouble you with a history of all my difficulties, 
delays, and disappointments, in the execution of my undertaking ; 
however interesting they were to me, the relation would be tire- 
some to those who have no diamond-mines to drain. It is 
enough for you to know that at length my engines were set 
a-going properly, and did their business so effectually, that the 
place was by degrees cleared of water, and the workmen were 
able to open fresh and valuable veins. During all this time, 
including a period of three years, my salary was regularly paid 
to the Gentoo merchant, Omychund, in whose hands I left all 
my money, upon his promising to pay me as high interest as 
-vvhat I could obtain at Madras. I drew upon him only for such 
small sums as were absolutely necessary ; as I was resolved to 
live with the utmost economy, that I might the sooner be 
enabled to return in affluence to my native country. 

" And here I must pause to praise myself, or rather to rejoice 
from the bottom of my soul, that I did not, when power was in 
my hands, make use of it for the purposes of extortion. The 
condition of the poor slaves, who were employed by me, was 
envied by all the others : and I have reason to know that, even 



in the most debased and miserable state of existence, the human 
heart can be wakened by kind treatment to feelings of affection 
and gratitude. These slaves became so much attached to me 
that, although the - governor of the mines, and certain diamond 
merchants, were lying in wait continually to get rid of me some 
way or other, they never could effect their purposes. I was 
always apprised of my danger in time by some of these trusty 
slaves; who, with astonishing sagacity and fidelity, guarded me 
while I lived amongst them. 

" A life of daily suspicion and danger was, however, terrible ; 
and my influence extended but a little way in making others 
happy. I m:ght, for a short season, lessen the suffering of these 
slaves ; but still they were slaves, and most of them were treated 
scarcely as if they were human beings, by the rapacious adven- 
turers for whom they laboured. 

"These poor wretches generally work almost naked; they 
dare not wear a coat, lest the governor should say they have 
thriven much, are rich, and so increase his demands upon them. 
The wisest, when they find a great stone, conceal it till they 
have an opportunity ; and then, with wife and children, run all 
away into the Visiapore country, where they are secure and 
well used (J . 

" My heart sickened at the daily sight of so much misery; 
and nothing but my hopes of finally prevailing on the sultan to 
better their condition, by showing him how much he would be 
the gainer by it, could have induced me to remain so long in 
this situation. Repeatedly Tippoo promised me that the first 
diamond of twenty pagos weight which I should bring to him, 
he would grant me all I asked in favour of the slaves under my 
care. I imparted to them this promise, which excited them to 
great exertions. At last we were fortunate enough to find 
a diamond above the weight required. It was a well-spread 
stone, of a beautiful pale rose-colour, and of an adamantine 
hardness. I am sure that the sight of that famous stone, which, 
is known by the name of the Pitt diamond, never gave its 
possessor such heartfelt joy as I experienced when I beheld 
this. I looked upon it as the pledge of future happiness, ik 
only to myself, but to hundreds of my fellow-creatures. 

9 Philosopliical Transaction*., 



" I set out immediately for Tippoo Sultan's court. It was too 
late in the evening, when I arrived, to see the sultan that night , 
so I went to Omychund, the Hindoo merchant, to settle my 
affairs with him. He received me with open arms, saying that 
he had thriven much upon my pagodas and rupees, and that he 
was ready to account with me for my salary ; also for the 
interest which he owed me ; for all which he gave me an order 
upon an English merchant at Madras, with whom I was well 

" This being settled to my satisfaction, I told him the business 
which now brought me to Tippoo's court, and showed him my 
rose-coloured diamond. His eyes opened at the sight with a 
prodigious expression of avaricious eagerness. 'Trust me,' said 
he, ' keep this diamond. I know Tippoo better than you do ; 
he will not grant those privileges to the slaves that you talk 
about ; and, after all, what concern are they of yours ? They 
are used to the life they lead. They are not Europeans. What 
concern are they of yours ? Once in your native country, you 
will dream of them no more. You will think only of enjoying 
the wealth you shall have brought from India. Trust me, keep 
the diamond. Fly this night towards Madras. I have a slave 
who perfectly knows the road across the country: you will be in 
no danger of pursuit, for the sultan will suppose you to be still at 
Golconda. No one could inform him of the truth but myself; 
arid you must see, by the advice I now give you, that I am your 
firm friend.' 

"As he finished these words, he clapped his hands, to summon 
one of his slaves, as he said, to give instant orders for my flight. 
He looked upon me with incredulous surprise, when I coolly 
told him that the flight which he proposed was far from my 
thoughts ; and that it was my determination to give the sultan 
the diamond that belonged to him. 

" Seeing that I was in earnest, Omychund suddenly changed 
his countenance ; and in a tone of raillery, asked me whether I 
could believe that his proposal was serious. Indeed I was 
left in doubt whether he had been in earnest or not ; and, 
at all events, I gave him to understand that I was incapable of 
betraying him to the sultan. 

" The next morning, as early as I could, I presented myself 
Popular Tales. e 



before the sultan, who singled me from the crowd, and took me 
with him into the apartment of Prince Abdul Calie. 

" I proceeded cautiously : Tippoo was all impatience to hear 
news of his diamond mine, and repeatedly interrupted me in my 
account of what had been done there, by asking whether we had 
yet come to any diamonds ? I produced first one of a violet 
colour, which I had reserved as a present for Prince Abdul Calie; it 
was a fine stone, but nothing equal to our rose-coloured diamond. 
Tippoo admired this, however, so much, that I was certain he 
would be in raptures with that which I had in store for him. 
Before I showed it to him, in speaking of the weight of that 
which I had designed to present to the prince, I reminded him 
of his royal promise with respect to the slaves. 'True,' cried 
the sultan : 'but is this diamond twenty pagos weight? when 
you bring me one of that value, you may depend upon having 
all you ask.' I instantly produced the rose-coloured diamond, 
weighed it in his presence, and, as the scale in which it was put 
descended, Tippoo burst forth into an exclamation of joy. I 
seized the favourable moment ; he nodded as I knelt before him, 
and bade me rise, saying my request was granted ; though why 
I should ask favours for a parcel of mean slaves, he observed, 
was incomprehensible. 

" Prince Abdul Calie did not appear to be of this opinion ; he 
at this instant cast upon me a look full of benevolence ; and 
whilst his father was absorbed in the contemplation of his rose- 
coloured diamond, which he weighed, I believe, a hundred times, 
the generous young prince presented to me that violet-coloured 
diamond which I brought for him. A princely gift made in a 
princely manner. 

" Tippoo's secretary made out for me the necessary order to 
the governor of the mines, by which a certain share of the profits 
of his labour was, by the sultan's command, to belong to each slave ; 
and all those who had been employed in my service were, as a 
reward for their good conduct, to be emancipated. A number 
of petty exactions were by this order abolished ; and the property 
acquired in land, dress, &c. by the slaves, was secured to them. 
Most gladly did I see the sultan's signet affixed to this paper ; 
and when it was delivered into my hands, my heart bounded 
with joy. I resolved to be the bearer of these good tidings 



myself. Although my passport was made out for Madras, an<? 
two hircarrahs, by the sultan's orders, were actually ready to 
attend me thither, yet I could not refuse myself the pleasure of 
beholding the joy of the slaves, at this change in their condition; 
and, to the latest hour of my life, I shall rejoice that I returned 
to Golconda the messenger of happiness. Never shall I forget 
the scene to which I was there a witness ; never will the expres- 
sion^ of joy and gratitude be effaced from my memory, which 
lighted up the dark faces of these poor creatures ! who, say what 
we will, have as much sensibility, perhaps more, than we have 

" No sooner was I awake, the morning after my arrival, than 
I heard them singing songs under my window, in which my own 
name was frequently repeated. They received me with a shovit 
of joy when I went out amongst them ; and, crowding round me, 
they pressed me to accept of some little tokens of their gratitude 
and good-will, which I had not the heart to refuse. The very 
children, by their caresses, seemed to beg me not to reject these 
little offerings. I determined, if ever I reached Europe, to give 
all of them to you, sir, my good master, as the best present I 
could make to one of your way of thinking. 

" The day after my arrival was spent in rejoicings. All the 
slaves, who had worked under my inspection, had saved some 
little matters, with which they had purchased for their wives 
and for themselves coloured cottons, and handkerchiefs for their 
heads. Now that they were not in dread of being robbed or 
persecuted by the governor of the mines, they ventured to 
produce them in open day. These cottons of Malabar are dyed 
of remarkably bright and gaudy colours ; and, when the slaves 
appeared decked in them, it was to me one of the gayest 
spectacles I ever beheld. They were dancing with a degree of 
animation of which, till then, I never had an idea. 

" I stood under the shade of a large bannian tree, enjoying 
the sight ; when suddenly I felt from behind a blow on my head 
which stunned me. I fell to the ground ; and when I came to 
my senses, found myself in the hands of four armed soldiers, and 
a Hindoo, who was pulling my diamond ring from my finger. 
They were carrying me away amid the cries and lamentations of 
the slaves, who followed us. ' Stand off! it is in vain you 



shriek,' said one of the soldiers to the surrounding crowd : 
'what we do is by order of'the sultan. Thus he punishes 

" Without further explanation, I was thrown into a dungeon 
belonging to the governor of the mines, who stood by With 
insulting joy to see me chained to a large stone in my horrid 
prison. I knew him to be my enemy : but what was my 
astonishment when I recollected in the countenance of the 
Hindoo, who was fastening my chains and loading me with 
curses, that very Saheb, whose life I had formerly saved ! 
To all my questions no answer was given, but, ' It is the will of 
the sultan y cr, ' Thus the sultan avenges himself upon 

" The door cf my dungeon was then locked and barred, and I 
was left alone in perfect darkness. Is this, thought I, the 
reward of all my faithful services ? Bitterly did I regret that I 
was not in my native country, where no man, at the will of a 
sultan, can be thrown into a dungeon, without knowing his crime 
or his accusers. I cannot attempt to describe to you what I 
felt, during this most miserable day of my existence. Feeble at 
last, for want of food, I stretched myself out, as well as my 
chains would allow me, and tried to compose myself to sleep. I 
sunk into a state of insensibility, in which I must have remained 
for several hours, for it was midnight when I was roused by 
the unbarring of my prison door. It was Saheb who entered, 
carrying in one hand a torch, and in the other some food, which 
he set before rae in silence. I cast upon him a look of scorn, 
and was about to reproach him with his ingratitude, when he 
threw himself at my feet, and burst into tears. 1 Is it possible,' 
said he to me, { that you are not sure of the heart of Saheb ? 
You saved my life ; I am come to save yours. But eat, master,' 
continued he ; ' eat whilst I speak, for we have no time to lose. 
To-morrow's sun must see us far from hence. You cannot 
support the fatigues you have to undergo without taking food.' 

" I yielded to his entreaties, and, whilst I ate, Saheb informed 
me that my impi'isonment was owing to the treacherous Hindoo 
merchant, Omychund ; who, in hopes, I suppose, of possessing 
himself in quiet of all the wealth which I had intrusted to his 
care, went to the sultan, and accused me of having secreted 



certain diamonds of great value, which he pretended I had shown 
to him in confidence. Tippoo, enraged at this, despatched 
immediate orders to four of his soldiers to go in search of me, 
seize, imprison, and torture me, till I should confess where these 
diamonds were concealed. Saheb was in the sultan's apartment 
when this order was given, and immediately hastened to Prince 
Abdul Calie, whom he knew to be my friend, and informed him 
of what had happened. The prince sent for Omychund, and, 
after carefully questioning him, was convinced, by his con- 
tradictory answers, and by his confusion, that the charge against 
me was wholly unfounded : he dismissed Omychuna, however, 
without letting him know his opinion, and then sent ^aheb for 
the four soldiers who were setting out in search oi me. In 
their presence he gave Saheb orders aloud to take charge of me 
the moment I should be found, and secretly commissioned him 
to favour my escape. The soldiers thought that in obeying the 
prince they obeyed the sultan ; and, consequently, when I was 
taken and lodged in my dungeon, the keys of it were delivered 
to Saheb. 

"When he had finished telling me all this, he restored to me 
my ring, which he said he snatched from my finger, as soon as 
I was seized, that I might not be robbed of it by the governor, 
or some of the soldiers. 

" The grateful Saheb now struck off my chains ; and my own 
anxiety for my escape was scarcely equal to his. He had swift 
horses belonging to the soldiers in readiness ; and we pursued 
our course all night without interruption. He was well ac- 
quainted with the country, having accompanied the sultan on 
several expeditions. When we thought ourselves beyond the 
reach of all pursuers, Saheb permitted me to rest ; but I never 
rested at my ease till I was out of Tippoo Sultan's dominions, 
and once more in safety at Madras. Dr. Bell received me with 
great kindness, heard my story, and congratulated me on my 
escape from Tippoo's power. 

" I was now rich beyond my hopes ; for I had Omychund's 
order upon the Madras merchant safe in my pocket, and the 
whole sum was punctually paid to me. My ring I sold to the 
governor of Madras for more even than I expected. 

" I had the satisfaction to learn, before I left Madras, that 


Omychund's treachery was made known to the sultan, by means 
of Prince Abdul Calie, whose memory will ever be dear to me. 
Tippoo, as I have been informed, in speaking of me, was heard 
to regret that he could not recall to his service such an honest 

" I was eager to reward the faithful Saheb, but he absolutely 
refused the money which I offered him, saying, ' that he would 
not be paid for saving the life of one who had saved his.' 
He expressed a great desire to accompany me to my native 
country, from the moment that I told him we had no slaves 
there ; and that as soon as any slave touched the English shore, 
by our laws, he obtained his freedom. He pressed me so 
earnestly to take him along with me as my servant, that I could 
not refuse ; so he sailed with me for Europe. As the wind 
filled the sails of our vessel, much did I rejoice that the gales 
which blew me from the shores of India were not tainted with 
the curses of any of my fellow-creatures. Here I am, thank 
Heaven ! once more in free and happy England, with a good 
fortune, clean hands, and a pure conscience, not unworthy to 
present myself to my first good master, to him whose humanity 
and generosity were the cause of " 

Here Mr. R interrupted his own praises, by saying to 

those of the miners who had not fallen fast asleep, " My good 
friends, you now know the meaning of the toast which you all 
drank after dinner ; let us drink it again before we part ; 
' Welcome home to our friend, Mr. Jervas, and may good faith 
always meet with good fortune ! "' 

October \ 1799. 



Mr. Pearson, a wealthy Lincolnshire farmer, who had always 
been esteemed a prudent sensible man, though something of 
a humourist, made the following will : 

" I, John Pearson, of The Wold in Lincolnshire, farmer, being 
of sound mind and body, do make this my last will and testa- 
ment, &c. 

" I give and bequeath my farm of West Woldland to my 
eldest nephew, Grimes Goodenough ; my farm of Holland Fen 
to my dear nephew, John Wright, and my farm of Clover-hill to 
my youngest nephew, Pierce Marvel. 

" I farther will and desire that the sum of ten thousand 
pounds, which is now in the hands of William Constantine, 
gentleman, my executor, may by him, immediately after my 
decease, be put out to interest for ten years : and I will and 
desire that, at the end of the said ten years, the said sum of ten 
thousand pounds, and the interest so accumulated thereon, be 
given to whichsoever of my aforesaid nephews shall at that time 
be the richest. 

" And I trust that the said William Constantine, gentleman, 
my executor and very good friend, being a clear-headed honest 
man, will understand and execute this my last will and testa- 
ment, according to the plain meaning of my words ; though it 
should happen that this my will should not be drawn up in due 
legal form, of which I know little or nothing." 

Mr. Constantine, the executor, being, as described, a clear- 
headed honest man, found no difficulty either in understanding 
or executing this trust : the ten thousand pounds were, imme- 
diately upon Pearson's decease, placed out upon interest ; and 
the three nephews were put into possession of their farms. 



These were of very different value. Goodenough's wanted' 
improvement, but would pay richly for any that should be judi- 
ciously made ; Wright's farm was by far the worst of the three ; 
and Marvel's the best. 

The Lincolnshire world was much divided in opinion con- 
cerning these young men ; and many bets were laid relating to 
the legacy. People judged according to their own characters ; 
the enterprising declared for Marvel, the prudent for Wright, 
the timid for Goodenough. 

The nephews had scarcely been in possession of their farms a 
week when, one evening, as they were all supping together at 
Wright's house, Marvel suddenly turned to Goodenough, and 
exclaimed, " When do you begin your improvements, cousin 

" Never, cousin Marvel." 

" Then you'll never touch the ten thousand, my boy. What ! 
will you do nothing to your marsh? Nothing to your common ? 
Nothing to your plantations ? Do not you mean ever to make 
any improvements?" 

" I mean not to make any improvements." 

" Well, you'll let me make some for you." 

"Not I." 

" No ! Won't you let me cut down some of those trees for 
you, that are spoiling one another in your wood?" 

" Not a tree shall be cut down. Not a stick shall be stirred. 
Not a change shall be made, I say." 

"Not a change for the better, cousin Goodenough?" said 

" Not a change can be for the better, to my mind ; I shall 
plough, and sow, and reap, as our forefathers did, and that's 
enough for me." 

"What! will you not even try the new plough?" said 

" Not I ; no new ploughs for me. No plough can be so good 
as the old one." 

" How do you know, as you never tried it, or would see :'t 
tried?" said Wright : " I find it better than the old one." 

" No matter ; the old one will do well enough for me, as it 
did for my father before me." 



After having repeated these words in precisely the same tone 
several times, he went on slowly eating his supper, whilst 
Marvel, in detestation of his obstinate stupidity, turned his hack 
upon him, and began to enumerate to Wright sundry of his own 
ingenious projects. 

" My dear Wright," said he, "you are worth talking to, and 
you shall hear all my schemes." 

"Willingly ; hut I do not promise to approve of them all." 

" Oh ! you will, you will, the moment you hear them ; and I 
will let you have a share in some of them. In the first place, 
there's that fine rabbit-warren near Clover-hill. The true 
silver grey rabbits — silver sprigs, they call them — do you know 
that the skins of those silver sprigs are worth any money?" 

" Any money ! what money ?" 

" Pooh ! I don't know exactly : but I mean to buy that 

" Before you know what it is worth ! Let us consider ; each 
dozen of skins is worth, say, from ten to fifteen shillings." 

"You need not trouble yourself to calculate now," interrupted 
Marvel, "for I have determined to have the warren. With the 
money that I shall get for my silver sprigs, I will next year 
make a decoy, and supply the London market with wild-fowl. 
Don't you remember the day that we met Simon Stubbs, the 
carrier, loaded with game and wild-fowl, he said that a decoy in 
Lincolnshire must be a fortune to any man. I'll have the best 
decoy not only in Lincolnshire but in all England. By-the-bye,. 
there's another thing I must do, Wright; I'll exchange any part 
of Clover-hill you please with you, for as much land in Holland 

"Take him at his word, cousin Wright," said Goodenough. 

" No, no," replied Wright ; "I know the value of land, and 
the difference between Clover-hill and Holland Fen, better than 
he does : I would not take him at his word, for that would be 
taking him in." 

" I would not take anybody in," said Goodenough; "but if 
another man is a fool, that's no reason I should be one. Now, 
if a man offers me a good bargain, why should not I close with 
him, and say — Done?" 



"Then say done," cried Marvel, "and you shall have the 
bargain, Goodenough. You have an undrained marsh of your 
own : I'll exchange with you, and welcome, ten acres of the 
marsh for five of Clover-hill." 

" Done," said Goodenough. 

" Done. I shall stock it with geese, and you'll see what the 
quills and feathers alone will bring me in." I've engaged with 
one already to sell them for me. But, Wright, here's another 
scheme I have. Wildmore common, you know, is covered with 
those huge thistles, which prick the noses of the sheep so as to 
hinder them from feeding and fattening : I will take that common 
into my own hands." 

" Ay," said Goodenough ; " exchange the rest of Clover-hill 
for it : — that's like you ! " 

" And I will mow the thistles," pursued Marvel, without 
deigning to reply to Goodenough. "I will mow the thistles; 
their down I can contrive to work up into cotton, and the stalks 
into cordage : and, with the profit I shall make of these thistles, 
and of my decoy, and of my goose-quills and feathers, and of 
my silver sprig rahhits, I will buy jackets for my sheep, for my 
sheep shall all have jackets after shearing. Why should not 
Lincolnshire sheep, if they have jackets, become as valuable as 
the Leicestershire breed? You'll see my sheep will be the finest 
in the whole county ; and, with the profit I shall make of them, 
I will set up a fishery in Fen-lake ; and with the profits of the 
fishery — now comes my grand scheme — I shall be the richest 
of you all ! with the profits of the fishery, and the decoy, and 
the sheep, and the silver sprigs, and the quills and feathers, 
geese and thistles, I will purchase that fine heronry, near Spal- 

At these words, Goodenough laid down his knife and fork ; 
and, sticking his arms a-kimbo, laughed contemptuously, if not 

" So, then, the end of all this turmoil is to purchase a heronry! 
Much good may it do you, cousin Marvel. You understand 
your own affair best : you will make great improvements, I grant 
and no doubt will be the richest of us all. The ten thousand 
pounds will be yours for certain : for, as we all know, cousin 



Marvel, you are a genius! — But why a genius should set his 
fancy upon a heronry, of all things in this mortal world, is more 
than I can pretend to tell, being no genius myself." 

" Look here, Wright," continued Marvel, still without vouch- 
safing any direct reply to Goodenough : " here's a description, 
in this last newspaper, of the fine present that the grand seignio; 
has made to his majesty. The plume of herons' feathers alone is 
estimated at a thousand guineas ! Think of what I shall make 
by my heronry ! At the end of ten years, I shall be so rich 
that it will hardly be worth my while," said Marvel, laughing, 
" to accept of my uncle's legacy. I will give it to you, 
Wright ; for you are a generous fellow, and I am sure you will 
deserve it." 

In return for this liberal promise, Wright endeavoured to 
convince Marvel, that if he attempted such a variety of schemes 
at once, they would probably all fail ; and that to ensure success, 
it would be necessary to calculate, and to make himself master 
of the business, before he should undertake to conduct it. 
Marvel, however, was of too sanguine and presumptuous a 
temper to listen to this sage advice : he was piqued by the 
sneers of his cousin Goodenough, and determined to prove the 
superiority of his own spirit and intellect. He plunged at once 
into the midst of a business which he did not understand. He 
took a rabbit-warren of two hundred and fifty acres into his 
hands ; stocked ten acres of marsh land with geese ; and ex- 
changed some of the best par f of Clover-hill for a share in a 
common covered with thistles. He planted a considerable tract 
of land, with a degree of expedition that astonished all the 
neighbourhood : but it was remarked that the fences were not 
quite sufficient ; especially as the young trees were in a 
dangerous situation, being surrounded by land stocked with 
sheep and horned cattle. Wright warned him of the danger; 
but he had no time this year, he said, to complete the fences : 
the men who tended his sheep might easily keep them from the 
plantation for this season, and the next spring he purposed to 
dig such a ditch round the whole as should secure it for ever. 
He was now extremely busy, making jackets for his sheep, pro- 
viding willows for his decoy, and gorse and corn for his geese : 
the geese, of which he had a prodigious flock, were not vet 



turned into their fen, because a new scheme had occurred to 
Marvel, relative to some reeds with which a part of this fen was 
covered ; on these reeds myriads of starlings»were accustomed to 
roost, who broke them down with their weight. Now Marvel 
knew that such reeds would be valuable for thatching, and with 
this view he determined to drive away the starlings; but the 
measures necessary for this purpose would frighten his friends, 
the geese, and therefore he was obliged to protect and feed them 
in his farm-yard, at a considerable expense, whilst he was carry- 
ing on the war with the starlings. He fired guns at them 
morning and evening, he sent up rockets and kites with fiery 
tails, and at last he banished them ; but half his geese, in the 
mean time, died for want of food ; and the women and children, 
who plucked them, stole one quarter of the feathers, and one 
half of the quills, whilst Marvel was absent letting up rockets in 
the fen. 

The rabbit-warren was, however, to make up for all other 
losses : a furrier had engaged to take as many silver sprigs from 
him as he pleased, at sixteen shillings a dozen, provided he 
should send them properly dressed, and in time to be shipped 
for China, where these silver grey rabbit skins sold to the best 
advantage. As winter came on, it was necessary to supply the 
warren with winter food : and Marvel was much astonished at the 
multitude of unforeseen expenses into which his rabbits led him. 
The banks of the warren wanted repair, and the warrener's house 
was not habitable in bad weather : these appeared but slight 
circumstances when Marvel made the purchase ; but, alas ! he 
had reason to change his opinion in the course of a few months. 
The first week in November, there was a heavy fall of snow; 
and the warren walls should have been immediately cleared of 
snow, to have kept the rabbits within their bounds : but Marvel 
happened this week to be on a visit in Yorkshire, and he was 
obliged to leave the care of the warren entirely to the warrener, 
who was obliged to quit his house during the snow, and to take 
shelter with a neighbour : he neglected to clear the walls ; and 
Marvel upon his return home, found that his silver sprigs had 
strayed into a neighbouring warren. The second week in 
November is the time when the rabbits are usually killed, as the 
skins are then in full prime : it was in vain that Marvel raised a 



nue and cry after his silver sprigs ; a fortnight passed away 
oefore one-third of them could be recovered. The season was 
»ost, and the furrier sued him for breach of contract ; and what 
was worse, Goodenough laughed at his misfortunes. The next 
year he expected to retrieve his loss : he repaired the warrener's 
house, new faced the banks, and capped them with furze ; but 
the common grey rabbit had been introduced into the warren, by 
the stragglers of the preceding year ; and as these grey rabbits 
are of a much more hardy race than the silver sprigs, they 
soon obtained and kept possession of the land. Marvel now 
pronounced rabbits to be the most useless and vexatious animals 
upon earth ; and, in one quarter of an hour, thoroughly con- 
vinced himself that tillage w r as far more profitable than rabbits. 
He ploughed up his warren, and sowed it with corn ; but, un- 
luckily, his attention had been so much taken up by the fishery, 
the decoy, the geese, the thistles, and the hopes of the heronry, 
that he totally forgot his intention of making the best of all 
possible ditches round his plantation. When he went to visit 
this plantation, he beheld a miserable spectacle : the rabbits 
which had strayed beyond their bounds during the great snow, 
and those which had been hunted from their burrows, when the 
warren was ploughed up, had all taken shelter in this spot ; and 
these refugees supported themselves, for some months, upon the 
bark and roots of the finest young trees. 

Marvel's loss was great, but his mortification still greater ; for 
his cousin Goodenough laughed at him without mercy. Some- 
thing must be done, he saw, to retrieve his credit : and the 
heronry was his resource. 

" What will signify a few trees, more or less," thought he, 
" or the loss of a few silver sprigs, or the death of a few geese, or 
the waste of a few quills and feathers ? My sheep will sell well, 
my thistles will bring me up again ; and as soon as I have sold 
my sheep at Partney fair, and manufactured my thistles, I will set 
out with my money in my pocket for Spalding, and make my 
bargain for the heronry. A plume of herons' feathers is worth 
a thousand guineas ! My fortune will bo made when I get 
possession of the Spalding heronry." 

So intent was Marvel upon the thoughts of the Spalding 
heronry, that he neglected every thing else. About a week 



before the fair of Partney, he bethought himself of his sheep, 
which he had left to the care of a shepherd boy : he now ordered 
the boy to drive them home, that he might see them. Their 
jackets hung upon them like bags : the poor animals had fallen 
away in the most deplorable manner. Marvel could scarcely 
believe that these were his sheep ; or that these were the sheep 
which he had expected to be the pride of Lincolnshire, and which 
he had hoped would set the fashion of jackets. Behold, they 
were dying of the rot ! 

"What an unfortunate man I am! " exclaimed Marvel, turning 
to his cousin Wright, whom he had summoned along with Good- 
enough, in the pride of his heart, to view, value, and admire his 
sheep. "All your sheep, Wright, are fat and sound: mine were 
finer than yours when I bought them : how comes it that I am 
so unlucky ?" 

" Jack of all trades, and master of none ! " said Goodenough, 
with a sneer. 

" You forgot, I am afraid, what I told you, when first you 
bought these sheep," said Wright, "that you should always keep 
them in fold, every morning, till the dew was off: if you had 
done so, they would now be as well and thriving as mine. Do 
not you remember my telling you that?" 

" Yes ; and I charged this boy always to keep them in fold till 
the dew was off," replied Marvel, turning with an angry coun- 
tenance to the shepherd boy. 

" I never heard nothing of it till this minute, I am sure, 
master," said the boy. 

Marvel now recollected that, at the very moment when he was 
going to give this order to the boy, his attention had been drawn 
away by the sight of a new decoy in the fields adjoining to his 
sheep pasture. In his haste to examine the decoy, he forgot to 
give that order to his shepherd, on which the safety of his fine 
flock of sheep depended 1 . Such are the negligences and blun- 
ders of those who endeavour to do half a dozen things at once. 

1 A General View of the Agriculture of the County of Lincoln, p. 330. 
" It well deserves noting that a shepherd, who, when young, was shepherd's 
boy to an old man, who lived at Netlani, near Lincoln, a place famous for 
the rot, told Mr. Neve that he was persuaded sheep took the rot only of a 
morning, before the dew was well off. At that time they folded, being 



The failure of one undertaking never discouraged Marvel from 
beginning another ; and it is a pity, that, with so much spirit 
and activity, he had so little steadiness and prudence. His sheep 
died, and he set out for Spalding full of the thoughts of the 
heronry. Now this heronry belonged to Sir Plantagenet Mow- 
bray, an elderly gentleman, who was almost distracted with 
family pride : he valued himself upon never having parted with 
one inch of the landed property that had descended to him, 
through a long line of ancestors, from the Plantagenets. He 
looked down upon the whole race of farmers and traders as 
beings of a different species from himself; and the indignation 
with which he heard, from a Lincolnshire farmer, a proposal to 
purchase his heronry, may perhaps be imagined, but cannot be 
described. It was in vain that Marvel rose in his offers ; it was 
in vain that he declared he was ready to give any price that Sir 
Plantagenet would set upon the heronry. Sir Plantagenet sent 
word, by his steward, that not a feather of his birds should be 
touched ; that he was astonished at the insolence of such a pro- 
posal ; and that he advised Marvel to keep out of the way of his 
people, lest they should revenge the insult that had been offered 
to their master. 

This haughty answer, and the disappointment of all his hopes 
and schemes respecting the heronry, threw Marvel into a degree 
of rage scarcely inferior to what was felt by Sir Plantagenet. As 
he was galloping down the avenue from Plantagenet-hall, he 
overtook a young man, of a shabby appearance, who was mounted 
upon a very fine horse. At first Marvel took it for granted 
that he was one of Sir Plantagenet's people, and he was riding 
past him, when he heard the stranger say, in a friendly tone, 
" Your horse gallops well, sir : but have a care ; there's a carrion 
a little way farther on that may startle him." 

Marvel pulled in his horse ; the stranger rode up beside him, 
and they entered into conversation. " That carrion, sir," said 
he, pointing to the dead horse, which had just been shot for the 
baronet's son's hounds, " that carrion, sir, was in my opinion the 

open field : lm master's shepherd kept his flock in fold always till the dew 
was gone ; and, with no other attention, his sheep were kept sound, when alj 
the neighbours lost their flocks." 


best horse Sir Plantagenet, or his son either, were possessed of, 
Tis a shame for any man, who pretends to be a gentleman, and 
who talks this way and that so high of his family, should be so 
stingy in the article of horseflesh." 

Marvel was not unwilling at this instant to hear the haughty 
baronet blamed and ridiculed ; and his companion exactly fell in 
with his humour, by telling a variety of anecdotes to prove Sir 
Plantagenet to be every thing that was odious and contemptible. 
The history of his insolence about the heronry was now related 
by Marvel ; and the stranger seemed to sympathize so much in 
his feelings, that, from a stranger, he began to consider him as a 
friend. Insensibly the conversation returned to the point at 
which it commenced ; and his new friend observed that it was 
in vain to expect any thing good from any gentleman, or 
indeed from any man, who was stingy in the article of horse- 

A new sense of honour and of shame began to rise in our hero's 
mind ; and he sat uneasy in his saddle, whilst he reflected that 
the horse upon which he was mounted, was perhaps as deservedly 
an object of contempt as any of Sir Plantagenet's stud. His new 
friend, without seeming to notice his embarrassment, continued 
his conversation, and drew a tempting picture of the pleasures 
and glories of a horse-race : he said, " he was just training a 
horse for the York races, and a finer animal never was crossed. 
Sir Plantagenet's eldest son would have been the proudest and 
happiest of mhfi, if his father would but have bought the horse 
for him : but lie had refused, and the youth himself had not the 
price, or half the price, at his command." 

Our hero was no judge of horses, but he was ambitious to 
prove that his spirit was superior to that of the haughty baronet ; 
and that something good might be expected from him, as he was 
not stingy in horseflesh. Besides, he was worked up to a high 
degree of curiosity to see the York races ; and his companion 
assured him that he could not appear there without being well 
mounted. In short, the hour was not at an end before he had 
offered a hundred guineas for the finest horse that ever was 
crossed. He was charmed with the idea that he should meet Sir 
Plantagenet Mowbray's son and heir, at the York races, and 
should show him that he was able and willing to pay for 



the horse, which his arrogant father could not afford to pur- 

From the anecdote of the heronry, his companion perceived 
that Marvel was a man fond of projects ; and he proposed to 
him a scheme, which caught his fancy so much that it consoled 
him for his disappointment. It was the fault of our enterprizing 
hero's character always to think the last scheme for making a 
fortune the best. As soon as he reached home he was in haste 
to abandon some of his old projects, which now appeared to him 
flat, stale, and unprofitable. About a score of his flock, though 
tainted with the rot, were not yet dead ; he was eager to sell 
them, but no one would buy sheep of such a wretched appear- 
ance. At last Wright took them off his hands. " I will throw 
the threescore jackets into the bargain," said Marvel; "for you 
are a generous fellow, to offer so handsomely for my poor sheep, 
and you deserve to be treated as you treat others. If I come in 
at the end of the ten years for the legacy, I shall remember you, 
as I told you before : as to my cousin Goodenough here, he 
thinks so much of himself, that there is no occasion for others to 
think of him. I asked him to join me in a bond, yesterday, for 
a hundred pounds, just to try him, and he refused me. When I 
come in for the legacy, I will cut him off with a shilling, — I will 
give him fair notice." 

" Cut me off with what you will," said Goodenough, sullenly, 
:t not a farthing of my money shall ever be lent to one that has 
a project for every day in the year. Get into what difficulties 
you may, I will never join you in any bond, I promise you. It 
is enough for me to take care of myself." 

" Don't flatter yourself that I am getting into any difficulties," 
replied Marvel. " I wanted the hundred guineas only to pay 
for a horse ; and the friend who sold him to me will wait my 

"The friend," said Wright ; "do you mean that man who 
rode home with you from Spalding ? — I advise you not to make 
a friend of him, for he is a notorious jockey." 

"He will not take me in, though," said Marvel; "I am as 
sharp as he is, and he sees that : so we understand one another 
very well. To my certain knowledge, a hundred and twenty 

Popular Tales. f 


guineas could be had to-morrow for the horse I bought from 
him ; yet he let me have him for a hundred." 

" And how can a man of your sense, cousin Marvel," said 
Wright, " believe that a person, who never saw you till within 
these three days, would be so much your friend as to make you 
a present of twenty guineas?" 

" A present !" 

" Yes ; if he lets you have a horse for a hundred, which you 
can sell for a hundred and twenty, does not he make you a 
present of twenty guineas?" 

" Well, but I can tell you the reason for all that : he wants 
me to enter into a scheme with him, for breeding horses on the 
common here : and so he would not, at first setting out, stand 
to higgle with me for the price of a horse." 

"And would you for twenty guineas, cousin Marvel, run the 
hazard of joining in any scheme with a man of his character? 
Pray inquire in the country and in York, where you are going, 
what sort of a character this man bears. Take my advice, pay 
him for his horse, and have nothing more to do with him." 

" But I have not the ready cash to pay him for his horse, 
that's one thing," said Marvel. 

"Let that be no difficulty," replied Wright ; "for I have a 
hundred guineas here, just brought home from Partney fair, and 
they are heartily at your service." 

Goodenough twitched Wright's elbow three times as he 
uttered these words : but Wright finished his sentence, and put 
the money into Marvel's hands immediately upon his promising 
to pay for the horse, break off all connexion with his friend the 
jockey, if he should find upon inquiry that he was not a person 
of good character, and at all events to suspend any treaty with 
him till after his return from York. 

" Whilst you are gone," said Wright, " I will make inquiries 
about the profit of breeding of horses on the commons. I have 
an acquaintance, a sensible old man, who has kept accounts of 
what he has done in that way himself; and he will show us his 
accounts, from which we shall be able to judge." 




Wright heard nothing more of him for about a fortnight ; he 
then received the following letter : 


" It is a very great pity that you could not be persuaded to 
come along with me to York races, where I have seen more of 
life, and of the world, in a week, than ever I did in all my life 
before. — York is a surprising fine town ; and has a handsome 
cathedral, and assembly-room : but I am not in the humour, just 
now, to describe them : so I shall proceed to what is much 
better worth thinking of. 

" You must know, cousin Wright, that I am in love, and 
never was I so happy or so miserable in my days. If I was not 
a farmer there would be some hopes for me ; but, to be sure, it 
is not to be expected that such a lady as she is should think of a 
mere country booby ; in which light, indeed, she was pleased to 
say, as I heard from good authority, she did not consider me ; 
though my manners wanted polish. These were her own words. 
I shall spare nothing to please her, if possible, and am not 
wholly without hope, though I have a powerful rival ; no less a per- 
son than the eldest son and heir of Sir Plantagenet Mowbray, Bart. 
But her virtue will never, I am persuaded, suffer her to listen to 
such addresses as his. Now mine are honourable, and pure as 
her soul ; the purity of which no one could doubt, who had seen 
her last night, as I did, in the character of the Fair Penitent. 
She was universally admired : and another night sung and 
danced like an angel. But I can give you no idea of her by 
pen and ink ; so I beseech you to come and see her, and give 
your advice to me candidly, for I have the highest opinion of 
your judgment and good-nature. 

" I find you were quite right about that scoundrel who rode 
with me from Spalding ! He has arrested me for a hundred 
guineas; and is, without exception, the shabbiest dog I ever met 
with : but I am out of his clutches, and have better friends. I 
will tell you the whole story when we meet, and pay you your 
hundred with many thanks. Pray set out as soon as you receive 
this, for every moment is an age to me : and I won't declare 

f 2 



myself, more than I have done, if possible, till you come ; for I 
have a great opinion of your judgment ; yet hope you won't put 
on your severe face, nor be prejudiced against her, because of 
her being on the stage. Leave such illiberality to cousin Good- 
enough : it would be quite beneath you ! Pray bring with you 
that volume of old plays that is at the top of my bed, under the 
bag of thistles ; or in the basket of reeds that I was making ; or 
in the out-house, where I keep the goose-quills and feathers. I 
don't find my memory so clear, since my head is so full of this 
charming Alicia Barton. Pray make no delay, as you value the 
peace of mind of your 

" Affectionate cousin and friend, 

" Pierce Marvel. 

" P. S. Mr. Barton, her brother, is the most generous of men, 
and the cleverest. He is not averse to the match. Sir Plan- 
tagenet Mowbray's son and heir, who is as insolent as his father, 
may find that a Lincolnshire farmer is not a person to be 
despised. 1 have thoughts of selling my farm of Clover-hill, and 
of going into another way of life ; for which, as Mr. Barton 
said, and Alicia hinted, nay, as I am inclined to believe too, I 
am much better suited than for farming. Of this more when we 
meet. Pray set out as soon as you receive this. Alicia has 
dark eyes, and yet a fair complexion. I am sure you will like 

Far from feeling sure that he should like Miss Alicia Barton, 
Wright was so much alarmed for his cousin, on the perusal of 
this letter, that he resolved to set out immediately for York, lest 
the sale of Clover-hill should be concluded before his arrival. 
A new project and a new love were, indeed, powerful temptations 
to one of Marvel's character. 

As Goodenough was plodding at his accustomed pace in his 
morning's work, he met Wright on horseback, who asked him if 
he had any commissions that he could execute in York, whither 
he was going. 

"None, thank Heaven!" said Goodenough. "So I see it 
is as I always knew it would be ! Marvel is 'ticing you into his 
own ways, and will make you just such another as his self. Ay, 



you must go to York races ! Well, so much the better for me. 
Much pleasure to you at the races." 

" I am not going to the races ; I am going to do Marvel a 

" Charity begins at home : that's my maxim," replied Good- 

"It is quite fitting that charity should begin at home," said 
Wright : " but then it should not end at home ; for those that 
help nobody will find none to help them in time of need." 

"Those that help nobody will not be so apt to come to need," 
replied Goodenough. "Butyonder's my men standing idle. If 
I but turn my head, that's the way of them. Good morrow to 
you, cousin Wright ; I can't stand argufying here about charity, 
which won't plough my ground, nor bring me a jot nearer to the 
ten thousand pounds' legacy : so good morrow to you. My 
service to cousin Marvel." 

Goodenough proceeded to his men, who were in truth standing 
idle, as it was their custom to do when their master's eye was 
not, as they thought, upon them ; for he kept them so hard at 
work, when he was present, that not a labouring man in the 
country would hire himself to Goodenough, when he could get 
employment elsewhere. Goodenough's partizans, however, 
observed that he got his money's worth out of every man he 
employed ; and that this was the way to grow rich. The 
question, said they, is not which of the three nephews will be 
the best beloved, but which will be the richest at the end of ten 
years ; and, on this ground, who can dispute that Goodenough's 
maxim is the best, " Charity begins at home?" Wright's friends 
looked rather alarmed when they heard of this journey to York ; 
and Marvel's advocates, though they put a good face upon the 
matter, heartily wished him safe home. 

Upon Wright's arrival in York, he found it no easy matter to 
discover his cousin Marvel ; for he had forgotten to date his 
letter, and no direction was given to inn or lodging : at last, 
after inquiring at all the public-houses without success, Wright 
bethought himself of asking where Miss Alicia Barton, the 
actress, lodged ; for there he would probably meet her lover. 
Mr. Harrison, an eminent dyer, to whom he applied for informa- 
tion, very civilly offered to show him to the house. Wright had 



gained this dyer's good opinion by the punctuality with which 
he had, for three years past, supplied him, at the day and hour 
appointed, with the quantity of woad for which he had agreed. 
Punctuality never fails to gain the good opinion of men of 

As the dyer walked with Wright to Miss Barton's lodgings, 
they entered into conversation about her; and Wright asked 
what character she bore. " I know nothing of her character for 
my own share," said Harrison, " not being in that line of busi- 
ness ; but I think I could put you into a way of seeing her in 
her true colours, whatever they may be ; for she is very intimate 
with a milliner, whom my wife (though not with my good-will 
entirely) visits. In return for which, I shall be glad that you 
will do my business along with your own ; and let me know if 
any thing is going wrong." 

The dyer introduced Wright to the milliner as a gentleman 
farmer, who wanted to take home with him a fashionable cap 
and bonnet, or two, for some ladies in Lincolnshire. The mil- 
liner ordered down some dusty bandboxes, which she protested 
and vowed were just arrived from London with the newest 
fashions ; and, whilst she was displaying these, Wright talked of 
the races, and the players, and Miss Alicia Barton. 

" Is she as handsome as they say ? I have a huge curiosity to 
see her," said Wright, feigning more rusticity of manner and 
more simplicity than was natural to him. " I have, truly, a 
woundy curosity to see her, I've heard so much of her, even 
down in Lincolnshire." 

" If you go to see the play, sir, you can't fail to have your 
curiosity gratified, for Miss Barton plays to-night — (Jenny ! 
reach me a play-bill) — for her own benefit, and appears in her 
very best character, the Romp." 

"The Romp! — Odds! Is that her best character? Why, 
now, to my notion, bad's the best, if that be the best of her 
characters. The Romp ! — Odds so ! What would our grand- 
mothers say to that?" 

" Oh, sir, times are changed, as well as fashions, since our 
grandmothers' days," said the milliner. " Put up this bonnet 
for the gentleman, Jenny. — I am sure I don't pretend to say 
any thing in favour of the times, whatever I may of the fashions. 



But, as to fashion, to be sure no one can be more fashionable, 
here in York, than Miss Barton. All our gentlemen are dying 
for her." 

" Odds my life, I'll keep out of her way ! And yet I've 
a huge cur'osity to set my eyes upon her. Pray, now, could I 
any way get to the sight or speech of her in a room, or so ? for 
seeing a woman on the stage is one thing, and seeing her off, as 
I take it, is another." 

" I take it so too, sir. Jenny, put up the cap for the gentle- 
man, and make out a bill." 

" No, no ; the bonnet's all I want, which I'll pay for on the 

Wright took out a long purse full of guineas : then put it up 
again, and opened a pocket-book full of bank-notes. The milliner's 
respect for him obviously increased. " Jenny ! Do run and see 
who's within there. Miss Barton was trying on her dress, I 
think, half an hour ago : may be she'll pass through this way, 
and the gentleman may have a sight of her, since it weighs so 
much upon his mind. Let me put up the cap too, sir : it's quite 
the fashion, you may assure the Lincolnshire ladies. — Oh! here's 
Miss Barton." 

Miss Barton made her appearance, with all her most be- 
witching smiles and graces. Without seeming to notice Wright, 
she seated herself in a charming attitude ; and, leaning pensively 
on the counter, addressed her conversation to her friend, the 
milliner : but, at every convenient pause, she cast an inquiring 
glance at Wright, who stood with his long purse of guineas in 
his hand, and his open pocket-book of bank-notes before him, as 
if he had been so much astonished by the lady's appearance, that 
he could not recover his recollection. Now, Wright was a re- 
markably well-shaped handsome man, and Miss Barton was in 
reality as much struck by his appearance as he feigned to be by 
hers. No forbidding reserve condemned him to silence ; and, 
as if inspired by the hope of pleasing, he soon grew talkative. 

"This is the most rare town, this, your town of York," 
said he : " I do not well know how I shall ever be able t® 
get myself out of it : so many fine sights, my eyes be quit© 
dazzled ! " 



" And pray, sir, which of all the fine sights do you like the 
best?" said the milliner. 

" Oh ! the ladies be the finest of all the fine sights : and I 
know who I think the finest lady I ever beheld — but will never 
tell — never." 

"Never, sir?" said the milliner, whilst Miss Barton modestly 
cast down her eyes. " Never's a bold word, sir. I've a notion 
you'll live to break that rash resolution." 

Miss Barton sighed, and involuntarily looked at the glass. 

" Why, where's the use," pursued Wright, " of being laughed 
at? Where's the sense of being scoffed at, as a man might be, 
that would go for to pay a compliment, not well knowing how, 
to a lady that is used to have court made to her by the first gen- 
tlemen in all York ?" 

" Those that think they don't know how to pay a compliment 
often pay the best to my fancy," said the milliner. "What 
says Miss Barton?" 

Miss Barton sighed and blushed, or looked as if she meant 
to blush ; and then, raising her well-practised eyes, exclaimed, 
with theatrical tones and gestures : 

" Ye sacred pow'rs, whose gracious providence 
Is watchful for our good, guard me from men, 
From their deceitful tongues, their vows and flatteries ; 
Still let me pass neglected by their eyes : 
Let my bloom witber and my form decay, 
That none may think it worth their while to ruin me, 
And fatal love may never be my bane." 

Scarcely had she concluded her speech, when Pierce Marvel 
came breathless into the shop. Wright was standing so as to be 
completely hidden by the door : and Marvel, not seeing his 
friend, addressed himself, as soon as he had breath, to his mis- 
tress. — The lady's manner changed, and Wright had an oppor- 
tunity of seeing and admiring her powers of acting. To Marvel, 
she was coy and disdainful. 

" I expect my friend and relation in town every hour," said 
he to her in a low voice ; "and then I shall be able to settle 
with your brother about the sale of Clover-hill. You half pro- 
mised that you would walk with me this morning." 



" Not without my brother : excuse me, sir," said the coy lady, 
withdrawing with the dignity of a princess. " When your friend 
arrives, for whose advice I presume you wait, you will be able 
to decide your heart, Mine cannot be influenced by base lucre, 
or mercenary considerations — Unhand me, sir." 

" I will run immediately to the inn, to see whether my friend 
is come," cried Marvel. " Believe me, I am as much above 
mercenary considerations as yourself ; but I have promised not 
to conclude upon the sale till he comes, and he would take it ill 
to be sent for, and then to be made a fool of.— I'll run to the 
Green Man again immediately, to see if he is come." 

Marvel darted out of the shop. Wright, during this parley, 
which lasted but a few seconds, had kept himself snug in his 
hiding-place, and appeared to the milliner to be wholly absorbed 
in casting up his bill, in which there was a shilling wrong. He 
came from behind the door as soon as Marvel departed ; and, 
saying that he would call for his purchases in an hour's time, 
left the milliner's, took a hackney coach, and drove to the 
Green Man, where he was now sure of meeting his cousin. 

" Thank Heaven! you are come at last," cried Marvel, the 
moment he saw him. " Thank Heaven ! you are come ! do not 
let us lose a moment. If you are not tired, if you are not 
hungry, come along with me, and I'll introduce you to my 
charming Alicia Barton." 

" I am both tired and hungry," replied Wright: a so let us 
have a hot beef-steak, and let me sit down and rest myself." 

It was the utmost stretch of Marvel's patience to wait for the 
beef-steak ; and he could scarcely conceive how any one could 
prefer eating it to seeing his charming Alicia. He did not eat 
a morsel himself, but walked up and down the room with quick 

" Oh ! my dear Wright," cried he, "it is a sign you've never 
seen her, or you would eat a little faster." 

" Does every body eat fast, who has seen Miss Barton ?" said 
Wright ; " then to be sure I should ; for I have seen her within 
this half hour." 

" Seen her! Seen Alicia ! Seen her within this half hour! 
That's impossible. — How could you see her? Where could you 
see her ?" 



" I saw lier in your company," rejoined Wright, coolly. 

" In my company ! How could that be, without my seeing 
you? — You are making a jest of me." 

" Not at all; only take care that you do not make a jest of 
yourself. I assure you that I say nothing but truth : I've seen 
you and your Miss Barton this very morning : nay, I'll tell you 
what you said to her; you told her that you could not sell 
Clover-hill till I came to town." 

Marvel stared, and stood in silent astonishment. 

" Ay," continued Wright, " you see by this how many things 
may pass before a man's eyes and ears, when he is in love, with- 
out his seeing or hearing them. Why, man, I was in the 
milliner's shop just now, standing in the corner behind the 
door; but you could see nothing but your charming Miss 

" I beg your pardon for being so blind," said Marvel, laugh- 
ing ; " but you are too good-natured to take offence ; though 
you don't know what it is to be in love." 

" There you are mistaken ; for I am as much in love as your- 
self at this instant." 

" Then I'm undone," cried Marvel, turning as pale as 

" Why so?" said Wright; "will you allow nobody, man, to 
be in love but yourself ? I don't see why I have not as good a 
right to fall in love as you have." 

" To be sure you have," said Marvel, trying to recover him- 
self ; " and I can't say but what you deal fairly by me, to tell 
me so honestly at once. More fool I to send for you. I might 
have foreseen this, blockhead as I am ! but you deal fairly by 
me, Wright : so I cannot complain, and will not, happen what 
may. Let him who can win her, wear her. We start fair ; for 
though I have had the advantage cf a first acquaintance, you 
are much the handsomer man of the two ; and that goes for 
a great deal with some ladies, though not perhaps with Alicia 

" There, perhaps, you may find yourself mistaken," replied 
Wright, with a significant look. 

"You don't say so? You don't think so?" cried Marvel, 
with great emotion. 



" I say what I think ; and, if I may trust a woman's looks, 
I've some reason for my thoughts." 

Marvel took up the tankard which stood on the table, and 
swallowed down a hasty draught ; and then said, though with 
an altered voice, " Cousin Wright, let him who can win her, 
wear her, as I said before. I sha'n't quarrel with you if you 
deal fairly by me ; so tell me honestly, did you never see her 
before this morning?" 

" Never, as I am an honest man," said Wright. 

" Then, here's my hand for you," said Marvel. "All's fair 
and handsome on your part. Happen what may, as I said 
before, I will not quarrel with you. If she was decreed to fall 
in love with you at first sight, why that's no fault of yours ; and 
if she tells me so fairly, why no great fault of hers. She has 
encouraged me a little ; but still women will change their minds, 
and I shall not call her a jilt if she speaks handsomely to me. 
It will go a little to my heart at first, no doubt ; but I shall bear 
it like a man, I hope ; and I shall not quarrel with you, cousin 
Wright, whatever else I do." 

Marvel shook Wright's hand heartily j but turned away 
directly afterwards, to hide his agitation. 

" Why now, cousin Marvel, you are a good fellow ; that's the 
truth of it," said Wright. "Trust to me: and, if the girl 
is what you think her, you shall have her : that I promise 

" That's more than you can promise, being as you say as much 
in love as I am." 

" I say I'm more in love than you are : but what then, I ask 

" What then ! why, we cannot both have Alicia Barton." 
" Very true. I would not have her if you would give her to 

"Would not have her! " cried Marvel, with a look of joyous 
astonishment : " but, did not you tell me you were in love with 

" Not I. You told it to yourself. I said I was in love ; but 
cannot a man be in love with any woman in this whole world 
but Miss Barton?" 

Marvel capered about the room with the most lively exprcs- 



sions of delight, shook hands with his cousin, as if he would have 
pulled his arm off, and then suddenly stopping, said, " But what 
do you think of my Alicia? Though you are not in love with 
her, I hope you think well of her?" 

"I must see more of her before I am qualified to speak." 

" Nay, nay, no drawbacks : out with it. I must know what 
you think of her at this time being." 

" At this time being, then, I think, she is what they call a 


" Oh, there you are out, indeed, cousin "Wright ! she's more of 
what they call a prude than a coquette." 

" To you, perhaps ; but not to me, cousin. Let every one 
speak of her as they find," replied Wright. 

Marvel grew warm in defence of Miss Barton's prudery ; and 
at last ended by saying, "that he'd stake his life upon it, she 
was no jilt. If she had taken a fancy to you, Wright, she would 
honestly tell me so, I'm convinced ; and, when she finds you are 
thinking of another woman, her pride would soon make her think 
no more of you. 'Tis but little she could have thought in the few 
minutes you were in her company ; and it is my opinion she 
never thought of you at all — no offence." 

"No offence, I promise you," said Wright; "but let us put 
her to the trial : do you keep your own counsel ; go on 
courting her your own way, and let me go mine. Don't you say 
one word of my being here in York ; but put her off about 
the sale of Clover-hill, till such time as you are sure of her 

To this proposal Marvel joyfully agreed; and, as to the time 
of trial, Wright asked only one week. His cousin then told him 
the new scheme, from which he expected to make so much : it 
had been suggested by Alicia's brother. " I am to sell Clover- 
hill ; and, with the money that I get for it, Barton and I are to 
build and fit up a theatre in Lincoln, and be the managers our- 
selves. I assure you, he says, and they all say, I should make a 
figure on the stage : and Miss Barton whispered, in my hearing, 
that I should make a capital Lothario," added Marvel, throwing 
himself into a stage attitude, and reciting, in a voice that made 
Wright start, 

" ' Earth, Heav'n, and fair Calista, judge the corn hat.* ** 



"Very fine, no doubt," said Wright; "but I am no judge of 
these matters ; only this I am sure of, that, with respect to selling 
Clover-hill, you had best go slowly to work, and see what the 
sister is, before you trust to the brother. It is not for my inte- 
rest, I very well know, to advise you against this scheme ; 
because, if I wanted to make certain of your not coming in for 
my uncle's legacy, I could not take a better way than to urge 
you to follow your fancy. For, say that you lay out all you have 
in the world on the building of this playhouse, and say that Bar- 
ton's as honest a man as yourself : observe, your playhouse 
cannot be built in less than a couple of years, and the interest of 
your money must be dead all that time ; and pray how are you 
to bring yourself up, by the end of the ten years ? Consider, 
there are but seven years of the time to come." 

Marvel gave his cousin hearty thanks for his disinterested 
advice, but observed that actors and managers of playhouses 
were, of all men, they who were most likely to grow rich in a 
trice ; that they often cleared many hundreds in one night for 
their benefits ; that even, if he should fail to hit the public taste 
himself, as an actor, he was sure at least, if he married the 
charming Alicia, that she would be a source of inexhaustible 
wealth. "Not," added he, "that I think of her in that light; 
for my soul is as much superior to mercenary considerations as 
her own." 

" More, perhaps," said Wright ; but seeing fire flash in his 
cousin's eyes at this insinuation, he contented himself for the 
present with the promise he had obtained, that nothing should 
be concluded till the end of one week ; that no mention should 
be made to Miss Barton, or her brother, of his arrival in town ; 
and that he should have free liberty to make trial of the lady's 
truth and constancy, in any way he should think proper. Back 
to his friend the milliner's he posted directly. Miss Barton was 
gone out upon the race-ground in Captain Mowbray's curricle : 
in her absence, Wright was received very graciously by the 
milliner, who had lodgings to let, and who readily agreed to let 
them to him for a week, as he offered half a guinea more than 
she could get from any body else. She fancied that he was deeply 
smitten with Miss Barton's charms, and encouraged his passion, 
by pretty broad hints that it was reciprocal. Miss Barton drank 



tea this evening with the milliner : Wright was of the party, and 
lie was made to understand that others had been excluded: " for 
Miss Barton," her friend observed, "was very nice as to her 

Many dexterous efforts were made to induce Wright to lay 
open his heart ; for the dyer's lady had been cross-questioned 
as to his property in Lincolnshire, and she being a lover of the 
marvellous, had indulged herself in a little exaggeration ; so that 
he was considered as a prize, and Miss Barton's imagination 
settled the matter so rapidly, that she had actually agreed to 
make the milliner a handsome present on the wedding-day. 
Upon this hint, the milliner became anxious to push forward the 
affair. Marvel, she observed, hung back about the sale of his 
estate ; and, as to Sir Plantagenet Mowbray's son, he was bound 
hand and foot by his father, so could do nothing genteel : besides, 
honourable matrimony was out of the question there. 

All these things considered, the milliner's decision was, on 
perfectly prudential and virtuous motives, in favour of Wright. 
Miss Barton's heart, to use her own misapplied term, spoke 
warmly in his favour ; for he was, without any comparison, the 
handsomest of her lovers; and his simplicity and apparent 
ignorance of the world were rather recommendations than 

Upon her second interview with him, she had, however, some 
reason to suspect that his simplicity was not so great as she had 
imagined. She was surprised to observe, that, notwithstanding 
all their artful hints, Wright came to nothing like a positive 
proposal, nor even to any declaration of his passion. The next 
day she was yet more astonished ; for Wright, though he Icncw 
she was a full hour in the milliner's shop, never made the 
slightest attempt to see her ; nay, in the evening, he met her on 
the public walk, and passed without more notice than a formal 
bow, and without turning his head back to look after her, though 
she was flirting with a party of gentlemen, expressly for the 
purpose of exciting his jealousy. 

Another consultation was held with her friend the milliner : 
"These men are terrible creatures to deal with," said her 
confidant. " Do you know, my dear creature, this man, simple 
as he looks, has been very near taking us in. Would you believe 



it? he is absolutely courting a Lincolnshire lady for a wife. He 
wrote a letter to her, my dear Alicia, this morning, and begged 
me to let my boy run with it to the post-office. I winded and 
winded, saying he was mighty anxious about the letter, and so 
on, till, at the last, out comes the truth. Then I touched him 
about you ; but he said, 4 an actress was not fit for a farmer's 
wife, and that you had too many admirers already.' You see, 
my dear creature, that he has none of the thoughts we built 
upon. Depend upon it he is a shrewd man, and knows what 
he is about ; so, as we cannot do better than Marvel, my 
advice " 

" Your advice ! " interrupted Miss Barton : " I shall follow no 
advice but my own." She walked up and down the small 
parlour in great agitation. 

" Do as you please, my dear ; but remember I cannot afford 
to lay out of my money to all eternity. The account between 
us has run up to a great sum ; the dresses were such as never 
were made up before in York, and must be paid for accordingly, 
as you must be sensible, Miss Barton. And when you have an 
opportunity of establishing yourself so handsomely, and getting 
all your debts paid ; and when your brother, who was here an 
hour ago, presses the match with Mr. Marvel so much ; it is 
very strange and unaccountable of you to say, 'you will take 
nobody's advice but your own ; ' and to fall in love, ma'am, as 
you are doing, as fast as you can, with a person who has no 
serious intentions, and is going to be married to another 
woman. For shame, Miss Barton ; is this behaving with proper 
propriety ? Besides, I've really great regard for that poor young 
man that you have been making a fool of; I'm sure he is 
desperately in love with you." 

"Then let him show it, and sell Clover-hill," said Miss 

Her mind balanced between avarice and what she called love. 
She had taken a fancy to Wright, and his present coldness 
rather increased than diminished her passion : he played his 
part so well, that she could not tell how to decide. In the 
mean time, the milliner pressed for her money ; and Alicia's 
brother bullied loudly in favour of Marvel : he had engaged the 
milliner, whom he was courting, to support his opinion. Marvel, 



though with much difficulty, stood his ground, and refused to 
sell Clover-hill, till he should be perfectly sure that Miss Barton 
would marry him, and till his relation should arrive in town, and 
give his consent. 


Mr. Barton and the milliner now agreed, that if fair means 
would not bring the charming Alicia to reason, others must be 
used; and it was settled that she should be arrested for her debt 
to the milliner, which was upwards of fifty pounds. " She 
knows," said this considerate brother, "that I have neither the 
power nor the will to pay the money. Sir Plantagenet's son is 
as poor as Job ; so she must have recourse to Marvel ; and, if 
she gives him proper encouragement, he'll pay the money in a 
trice. As to this man, who lodges with you, let her apply to 
him if she likes it ; she will soon see how he will answer her. 
By your account he is a shrewd fellow, and not like our friend 

On Friday morning the charming Alicia was arrested, at the 
suit of her dear friend and confidant, the milliner. The arrest 
was made in the milliner's shop. Alicia would doubtless have 
screamed and fainted, with every becoming spirit and grace, if 
any spectators had been present : but there was no one in the 
shop to admire or pity. She rushed with dishevelled hair, and 
all the stage show of distraction, into Wright's apartment ; but, 
alas ! he was not to be found. She then composed herself, and 
wrote the following note to Marvel : 


" At the Green Man. 
" Much as it hurts the delicacy and wounds the pride of 
Alicia, she is compelled, by the perfidy of a bosom friend of her 
own sex, to apply for assistance and protection to one who will 
feel for the indignity that has been shown her. How will his 
generous nature shudder, when he hears that she is on the point 
of being dragged to a loathsome dungeon, for want of the paltry 
sum of fifty pounds ! Retrospection may convince the man of 



her heart, that her soul is superior to mercenary considerations ; 
else, she would not now be reduced so low in the power of her 
enemies : she scarcely knows what she writes — her heart bleeds 
— her brain is on fire ! 

" ' Celestial sounds ! Peace dawns upon my soul, 
And every pain grows less. Oh ! gentle Altamont, 
Think not too hardly of me when I'm gone, 
But pity me. Had I hut early known 
Thy wond'rous worth, thou excellent young man, 
We had been happier both. Now 'tis too late. 
And yet my eyes take pleasure to behold thee ! 
Thou art their last dear object. — Mercy, Heav'n P 

" Your affectionate, 

"And (shall I confess it?) 

" Too affectionate, 

" Alicia." 

Marvel was settling some accounts with Wright when this 
note was put into his hands : scarcely had he glanced his eye 
over it, when he started up, seized a parcel of bank notes, which 
lay on the table, and was rushing out of the room. Wright 
caught hold of his arm, and stopped him by force. 

" Where now? What now, Marvel ?" said he. 

" Do not stop me, Wright ! I will not be stopped ! She has 
been barbarously used. They are dragging her to prison. — They 
have driven her almost out of her senses. I must go to her this 

" Well, well, don't go without your hat, man, for the people 
in the street will take you for a lunatic. May a friend see this 
letter that has driven you out of your senses ?" 

Marvel put it into Wright's hands, who read it with wonderful 
composure ; and when he came to the end of it, only said — 

" Hum," repeated Marvel, provoked beyond measure; "you 
have no humanity. You are most strangely prejudiced. You 
are worse than Goodenough. Why do you follow me?" con- 
tinued he, observing that Wright was coming after him across 
the inn-yard into the street. 

"I follow you to take care of you," said Wright, calmly; 
Popular Tales. q 



"and though you do stride on at such a rate, I'll be hound ta 
keep up with you." 

He suffered Marvel to walk on at his own pace for the length 
of two streets, without saying another word ; but just as they 
were turning the corner into the square where the milliner lived 
he again caught hold of his cousin's arm, and said to him : 
" Hark you, Marvel ; will you trust me with those bank notes 
that you have in your pocket ? and will you let me step on to 
the milliner's, and settle this business for you ? I see it will cost 
you fifty pounds, but that I cannot help. You may think your- 
self well off'." 

"Fifty pounds! What are fifty pounds?" cried Marvel, 
hurrying forwards. " You see that my Alicia must be superior 
to mercenary considerations ; for, though she knows I have a 
good fortune, that could not decide her in my favour." 

" No, because she fancies that I have a better fortune ; and, 
besides (for there are times when a man must speak plainly), 
I've a notion she would at this minute sooner be my mistress 
than your wife, if the thing were fairly tried. She'll take your 
money as fast as you please ; and I may take her as fast as I 

Incensed at these words, Marvel could scarcely restrain his 
passion within bounds : but Wright, without being moved^ 
continued to speak. 

"Nay, then, cousin, if you don't believe me, put it to the 
test! — I'll wait here, at this woollen-draper's, where I am to 
dine : do you go on to your milliner's, and say what you please, 
only let me have my turn for half an hour this evening ; and, if 
I am mistaken in the lady, I'll freely own it, and make all due 

In the afternoon, Marvel came to Wright with a face full of 
joy and triumph. " Go to my Alicia now, cousin Wright," said 
he : "I defy you. She is at her lodging. — She has promised to 
marry me ! I am the happiest man in the world !" 

Wright said not a word, but departed. Now he had in his 
pocket an unanswered billet-doux, which had been laid upon his 
table the preceding night : the billet-doux had no name to it; 
but, from all he had remarked of the lady's manners towards 
him, he could not doubt that it was the charming Alicia's. Ho 



was determined to have positive proof, however, to satisfy 
Marvel's mind completely. The note which he had received 
was as follows : 

"What can be the cause of your cruel and sudden change 
towards one of whom you lately appeared to think so partially ? 
A certain female friend may deceive you, by false representa- 
tions : do not trust to her, but learn the real sentiments of a 
fond heart from one who knows not how to feign. Spare the 
delicacy of your victim, and guess her name." 

To this note, from one " who knew not how to feign," Wright 
sent the following reply : 

"If Miss Barton knows any thing of a letter that was left at 
Mrs. Stokes's, the milliner's, last night, she may receive an 
answer to her questions from the bearer ; who, being no scholar, 
hopes she will not take no offence at the shortness of these line?, 
but satisfy him in the honour of drinking tea with her, who 
waits below stairs for an answer." 

The charming Alicia allowed him the honour of drinking tea 
with her, and was delighted with the thought that she had at 
last caught him in her snares. The moment she had hopes of 1 
him, she resolved to break her promise to Marvel ; and by 
making a merit of sacrificing to Wright all his rivals, she had no 
doubt that she should work so successfully upon his vanity, as to 
induce him to break off his treaty with the Lincolnshire lady. 

Wright quickly let her go on with the notion that she had the 
game in her own hands ; at length he assumed a very serious look, 
like one upon the point of forming some grand resolution ; and 
turning half away from her, said : 

" But now, look ye, Miss Barton, I am not a sort of man who 
would like to be made a fool of. Here I'm told half the gentle- 
men of York are dying for you ; and, as your friend Mrs. Stokes 
informed " 

" Mrs. Stokes is not my friend, but the basest and most bar- 
barous of enemies," cried Alicia.' 

" Why, now, this is strange ! She was your friend yesterday; 
g 2 



and how do I know but a woman may change as quick, and aa 
short, about her lovers, as about her friends ?" 

"I never can change : fear nothing," said Alicia, tenderly. 

" But let me finish what I was saying about Mrs. Stokes ; she 
told me something about one Mr. Marvel, I think they call him ; 
now what is all that?" 

" Nothing : he is a foolish young man, who was desperately 
in love with me, that's all, and offered to marry me ; but, as I 
told him, I am superior to mercenary considerations." 

" And is the affair broke off, then?" said Wright, looking her 
full in the face. " That's in one word what I must be sure of: 
for I am not a man that would choose to be jilted. Sit you down 
and pen me a farewell to that same foolish young fellow. I am a 
plain-spoken man, and now you have my mind." 

Miss Barton was now persuaded that all Wright's coldness had 
proceeded from jealousy : blinded by her passions, and alarmed 
by the idea that this was the moment in which she must either 
secure or for ever abandon Wright and his fortune, she con- 
sented to his proposal, and wrote the following tender adieu to 
Marvel : 


"sir, At the Green Man. 

" Circumstances have occurred, since I had last the honour 
of seeing you, which make it impossible that I should ever think 
of you more. 

"Alicia Barton." 

Wright said he was perfectly satisfied with this note ; and 
all that he now desired was to be himself the bearer of it to 

" He is a hot-headed young man," said Alicia ; "he will per- 
haps quarrel with you : let me send the letter by a messenger of 
my own. You don't know him ; you will not be able to find 
him out. Besides, why will you deprive me of your company ? 
Cannot another carry this note as well as you?" 

"None shall carry it but myself," said Wright, holding fast 
his prize. She was apprehensive of losing him for ever, if she 
opposed what she thought his jealous humour ; so she struggled 



no longer to hold him, but bade him make haste to return to his 

He returned no more ; but the next morning she received from 
him the following note : 



" Circumstances have occurred, since I had last the honour 
of seeing you, which make it impossible that I should ever think 
of you more. 

" John Wright. 

" P.S. My cousin, Marvel, thanks you for your note. Before 
you receive this, he will have left York wiser than he came into 
it by fifty guineas and more." 

"Wiser by more than fifty guineas, I hope," said Marvel, as 
he rode out of town, early in the morning. 

" I have been on the point of being finely taken in ! I'm 
sure this will be a lesson to me as long as I live. I shall never 
forget your good-nature, and steadiness to me, Wright. Now, if 
it had not been for you, I might have been married to this jade; 
and have given her and her brother every thing I'm worth in the 
world. Well, well, this is a lesson I shall remember. I've felt 
it sharply enough. Now I'll turn my head to my business again, 
if I can. How Goodenough would laugh at me if he knew this 
story. But I'll make up for all the foolish things I have done 
I et before I die ; and I hope, before I die, I may be able to show 
you, cousin Wright, how much I am obliged to you : that would 
be greater joy to me even than getting by my own ingenuity my 
uncle Pearson's ten thousand pound legacy. Do, Wright, find 
out something I can do for you, to make amends for all the 
trouble I've given you, and all the time I have made you waste : 
do, there's a good fellow." 

" Well, then," said Wright, " I don't want to saddle you with 
an obligation. You shall pay me in kind directly, since you are 
so desirous of it. I told you I was in love : you shall come with 
me and see my mistress, to give me your opinion of her. Every 
man can be prudent for his neighbour : even you no doubt can," 
added Wright, laughing. 



Wright's mistress was a Miss Banks, only daughter to a gen- 
tleman who had set up an apparatus for manufacturing woad. 
Mr. Banks's house was in their way home, and they called there. 
They knocked several times at the door, before any one 
answered : at last a boy came to hold their horses, who told them 
that Mr. Banks was dead, and that nobody could be let into the 
house. The boy knew nothing of the matter, except that his 
master died, he believed, of a sort of a fit ; and that his young 
mistress was in great grief: "which I'm mortal sorry for," added 
he : " for she he's kind hearted and civil spoken, and moreover 
did give me the very shoes I have on my feet." 

" I wish I could see her," said Wright; " I might be some 
comfort to her." 

"Might ye so, master? If that the thing be so," said the 
boy, looking earnestly in Wright's face, " I'll do my best 

He ran off at full speed through the back yard, but returned 
to learn the gentleman's name, which he had forgotten to ask ; 
and presently afterwards he brought his answer. It was written 
with a pencil, and with a trembling hand : 

" My dear Mr. Wright, I cannot see you now : but you 
shall hear from me as soon as I am able to give an answer to 
your last. 

" S. Banks." 

The words, "My dear," were half rubbed one : but they were 
visible enough to his eyes. Wright turned his horse's head 
homewards, and Marvel and he rode away. His heart was so 
full that he could not speak, and he did not hear what Marvel 
said to comfort him. As they were thus riding on slowly, they 
heard a great noise of horsemen behind them ; and looking 
back, they saw a number of farmers, who were riding after them. 
As they drew near, Wright's attention was roused by hearing 
the name of Banks frequently repeated. " What news, neigh- 
oour?" said Marvel. 

" The news is, that Mr. Banks is dead ; he died of an apoplectic 
fit, and has left his daughter a power o' money, they say. Happy 
the man who gets her ! Good morrow to you, gentlemen ; we're 
in haste home." 



After receiving this intelligence, Wright read his mistress's 
note over again, and observed that he was not quite pleased to 
see the words " My dear " half rubbed out. Marvel exclaimed, 
" Have nothing more to do with her ; that's my advice to you ; 
for I would not marry any woman for her fortune ; especially if 
she thought she was doing me a favour. If she loved you, 
she would not have rubbed out those words at such a time as 

" Stay a bit," said Wright; " we shall be better able to judge 
by and by." 

A week passed away, and Wright heard nothing from Miss 
Banks ; nor did he attempt to see her, but waited as patiently as 
he could for her promised letter. At last it came. The first 
word was "Sir." That was enough for Marvel, who threw it 
down with indignation when his cousin showed it to him. " Nay, 
but read it, at least," said Wright. 

" SIR, 

" My poor father's affairs have been left in great disorder; 
and instead of the fortune which you might have expected with 
me, I shall have little or nothing. The creditors have been 
very kind to me ; and I hope in time to pay all just debts. I 
have been much hurried with business, or should have written 
sooner. Indeed it is no pleasant task to me to write at all, on this 
occasion. I cannot unsay what I have said to you in former 
times, for I think the same of you as ever I did : but I know that 
I am not now a fit match for you as to fortune, and would not 
hold any man to his word, nor could value any man enough to 
marry him, who would break it. Therefore it will be no grief 
for me to break off with you if such should be your desire. And 
no blame shall be thrown upon you by my friends, for I will 
take the refusal upon myself. I know the terms of your uncle's 
will, and the great reason you have to wish for a good fortune 
with your wife ; so it is very natural — I mean very likely, you 
may not choose to be burdened with a woman who has none. 
Pray speak your mind freely to, sir, 

" Your humble servant, 

" S. Banks." 



Marvel had no sooner read this letter than he advised his 
friend Wright to marry Miss Banks directly. 

"That is what I have determined to do," said Wright: "for 
I don't think money the first thing in the world ; and I would 
sooner give up my uncle Pearson's legacy this minute than 
hreak my word to any woman, much less to one that I love, as 1 
do Miss Banks, better now than ever. I have just heard from 
the steward, who brought this letter, how handsomely and 
prudently she has behaved to other people, as well as to myself: 
by which I can judge most safely. She has paid all the debts 
that were justly due, and has sold even the gig, which I know 
she wished to keep ; but, seeing that it was not suited to her 
present circumstances, her good sense has got the better. Now, 
to my mind, a prudent wife, even as to money matters, may turn 
out a greater treasure to a man than what they call a great 

With these sentiments Wright married Miss Banks, who was 
indeed a very prudent, amiable girl. Goodenough sneered at 
this match ; and observed that he had always foretold Wright 
would be taken in, sooner or later. Goodenough was now in his 
thirty-second year, and as he had always determined to marry 
precisely at this age, he began to look about for a wife. He 
chose a widow, said to be of a very close saving temper : she 
was neither young, handsome, nor agreeable ; but then she was 
rich, and it was Goodenough's notion that the main chance 
should be first considered, in matrimony as in every thing else. 
Now this notable dame was precisely of his way of thinking ; but 
she had more shrewdness than her lover, and she overreached 
him in the bargain : her fortune did not turn out to be above 
one half of what report had represented it ; her temper was 
worse than even her enemies said it was ; and the time that was 
daily wasted in trifling disputes between this well-matched pair 
was worth more than all the petty savings made by her avaricious 

Goodenough cursed himself ten times a day, during the 
honey-moon ; but as he did not like to let the neighbours know 
how far he had been outwitted, he held his tongue with the 
fortitude of a martyr ; and his partisans all commended him for 
making so prudent a match. 



•'Ah, ay," said they, "there's Wright, who might have had 
this very woman, has gone and married a girl without a shilling, 
with all his prudence ; and, as to Marvel, he will surely he hit." 
There they were mistaken. Marvel was a person capable of 
learning from experience, and he never forgot the lesson that he 
had received from the charming Alicia. It seemed to have 
sobered him completely. 


About this time, Mr. James Harrison, an eminent dyer, uncle 
to Wright's friend of that name at York, came to settle near 
Clover-hill ; and as Marvel was always inclined to be hospi- 
table, he assisted his new neighbour with many of those little 
conveniences, which money cannot always command at the 
moment they are wanted. The dyer was grateful ; and, in 
return for Marvel's civilities, let him into many of the mysteries 
of the dyeing business, which he was anxious to understand. 
Scarcely a day passed without his calling on Mr. James Harrison. 
Now, Mr. Harrison had a daughter, Lucy, who was young and 
pretty, and Marvel thought her more and more agreeable every 
time he saw her ; but, as he told Wright, he was determined not 
to fall in love with her, until he was quite sure that she was 
good for something. A few weeks after he had been acquainted 
with her, he had an opportunity of seeing her tried. Mrs. 
Isaac Harrison, the dyer of York's lady, came to spend some 
time ; Miss Millicent, or, as she was commonly called, Milly 
Harrison, accompanied her mother : she, having a more fashion- 
able air than Lucy, and having learned to dance from a London 
dancing-master, thought herself so much her superior that she 
ought to direct her in all things. Miss Milly, the Sunday after 
her arrival, appeared at church in a bonnet that charmed half 
the congregation ; and a crowd of farmers' wives and daughters, 
the moment church was over, begged the favour of Miss Milly 
to tell them where and how such a bonnet could be got, and 
how much it would cost. It was extravagantly dear; and those 
mothers who had any prudence were frightened at the price : 
but the daughters were of opinion that it was the cheapest, as 



well as prettiest thing that ever was seen or heard of; and Miss 
Milly was commissioned to write immediately to York to bespeak 
fifteen bonnets exactly like her own. This transaction was 
settled before they had left the churchyard ; and Miss Milly was 
leaning upon a tombstone to write down the names of those who 
were most eager to have their bonnets before the next Sunday, 
when Wright and Marvel came up to the place where the crowd 
was gathered, and they saw what was going forward. 

Miss Barber, Miss Cotton, Miss Lamb, Miss Dishley, Miss 
Trotter, Miss Hull, Miss Parker, Miss Bury, Miss Oxley, &c. 
&c. &c. &c. &c. &c. &c. &c. &c. &c. &c. &c, all, in their turn, 
peeped anxiously over Miss Milly's shoulder, to make themselves 
sure that their names were in the happy list. Lucy Harrison, 
alone, stood with a composed countenance in the midst of the 
agitated group. " Well, cousin Lucy, what say you now ? 
Shall I bespeak a bonnet for you, hey? — Do you know," cried 
Miss Milly, turning to the admirers of her bonnet, " do you 
know that I offered to bespeak one yesterday for Lucy ; and she 
was so stingy she would not let me, because it was too dear?" 
" Too dear ! Could ye conceive it V repeated the young ladies, 
joining in a scornful titter. All eyes were now fixed upon 
Lucy, who blushed deeply, but answered, with gentle steadiness, 
that she really could not afford to lay out so much money upon 
a bonnet, and that she would rather not have her name put 
down in the list. 

"She's a good prudent girl," whispered Wright to Marvel. 

" And very pretty, I am sure ; I never saw her look so pretty 
as at this instant," replied Marvel in a low voice. 

"Please yourself, child," said Miss Milly, throwing back her 
head with much disdain ; " but I'm sure you'll please nobody 
else with such a dowdy thing as that you have on. Lord ! I 
should like to see her walk the streets of York on a Sunday that 
figure. Lord ! how Mrs. Stokes would laugh !" 

Here she paused, and several of her fair audience were struck 
with the terrible idea of being laughed at by a person whom 
they had never seen, and whom they were never likely to see ; 
and transporting themselves in imagination into the streets of 
York, felt all the horror of being stared at, in an unfashionable 
bonnet, by Mrs. Stokes. " Gracious me ! Miss Milly, do pray 



be sure to have mine sent from York afore next Sunday," cried 
one of the country belles : " and, gracious me ! don't forget 
mine, Miss Mill," was reiterated by every voice but Lucy's, as 
the crowd followed Miss Harrison out of the churchyard. Great 
was the contempt felt for her by the company; but she was 
proof against their ridicule, and calmly ended, as she began, 
with saying, " I cannot afford it." 

" She is a very prudent girl," repeated Wright, in a low 
voice, to Marvel. 

" But I hope this is not stinginess," whispered Marvel. " I 
would not marry such a stingy animal as Goodenough has 
taken to wife for all the world. Do you know she has half 
starved the servant boy that lived with them ? There he is, 
yonder, getting over the stile : did you ever see such a miser- 
able-looking creature ? — He can tell you fifty stories of dame 
Goodenough's stinginess. I would not marry a stir^y woman 
for the whole world. I hope Lucy Harrison is not stingy." 

" Pray, Mrs. Wright," said Marvel's friend, turning to his 
wife, who had been standing beside him, and who had not yet 
said one word, " what may your opinion be ?" 

" My opinion is, that she is as generous a girl as any upon 
earth," said Mrs. Wright, "and I have good reason to say so." 

" How? What?" said Marvel, eagerly. 

" Her father lent my poor father five hundred pounds ; and 
at the meeting of the creditors after his death, Mr. Harrison was 
very earnest to have the money paid, because it was his daugh- 
ter's fortune. When he found that it could not be had imme- 
diately, he grew extremely angry ; but Lucy pacified him, and 
told him that she was sure I should pay the money honestly, as 
soon as I could ; and that she would willingly wait to have it 
paid at a hundred pounds a year, for my convenience. Iam 
more obliged to her for the handsome way in which she trusted 
to me, than if she had given me half the money. I shall never 
forget it." 

" I hope you forgive her for not buying the bonnet," said 
Wright to Marvel. 

"Forgive her! ay; now I love her for it," said Marvel; 
<c now I know that she is not stingy." 

From this day forward, Marvel's attachment to Lucy rapidly 



increased. One evening he was walking in the fields with Lucy 
and Miss Milly, who played off her finest York airs to attract 
his admiration, when the following dialogue passed between 
them: "La! cousin Lucy," said Miss Miliicent, " when shall 
we get you to York ? I long to show you a little of the world, 
and to introduce you to my friend, Mrs. Stokes, the milliner." 

" My father says that he does not wish that I should he 
acquainted with Mrs. Stokes," said Lucy. 

" Your father ! Nonsense, child. Your father has lived ah 
his life in the country, the Lord knows where ; he has not lived 
in York, as I have ; so how can he know any thing upon earth 
of the world? — what we call the world, I mean." 

" I do not know, cousin Milly, what you call the world; but 
I think that he knows more of Mrs. Stokes than I do ; and I 
shall trust to his opinion, for I never knew him speak ill of any 
body without having good reason for it. Besides, it is my duty 
to obey my father." 

" Duty ! La ! Gracious me ! She talks as if she was a baby 
in leading-strings," cried Miss Milly, laughing; but she w r as 
mortified at observing that Marvel did not join, as she had' 
expected, in the laugh : so she added, in a scornful tone, " Per- 
haps I'm in the wrong box ; and that Mr. Marvel is one of them 
that admires pretty babes in leading-strings." 

" I am one of those that admire a good daughter, I confess," 
said Marvel; "and," said he, lowering his voice, "that love 
her too." 

Miss Milly coloured with anger, and Lucy with an emotion 
that she had never felt before. As they returned home, they 
met Mr. Harrison, and the moment Marvel espied him he 
quitted the ladies. 

" I've something to say to you, Mr. Harrison. I should be 
glad to speak a few words to you in private, if you please," cried 
he, seizing his arm, and leading him down a by-lane. 

Mr. Harrison was all attention ; but Marvel began to gather 
primroses, instead of speaking. 

" Well," said Mr. Harrison, " did you bring me here to see 
you gather primroses?" 

After smelling the flowers twenty times, and placing them in 
twenty different forms, Marvel at last threw them on the bank. 



and, with a sudden effort, exclaimed, " You have a daughter, 
Mr. James Harrison." 

" I know I have ; and I thank God for it." 

" So you have reason to do ; for a more lovely girl and a 
better, in my opinion, never existed." 

" One must not praise one's own, or I should agree with you," 
?aid the proud father. 

Again there was silence. And again Marvel picked up his 

" In short," said he, " Mr. Harrison, would you like me for a 
son-in-law ?" 

" Would Lucy like you for a husband? I must know that 
first," said the good father. 

" That is what I do not know," replied Marvel; "hut, if I 
was to ask her, she would ask you, I am sure, whether you 
would like me for a son-in-law." 

" At this rate, we shall never get forwards," said Harrison. 
" Go you hack to Miss Milly, and send my Lucy here to me." 

We shall not tell how Lucy picked up the flowers, which had 
been her lover's grand resource ; nor how often she blushed 
upon the occasion : she acknowledged that she thought Mr. 
Marvel very agreeable, but that she was afraid to marry a person 
who had so little steadiness. That she had heard of a great 
number of schemes, undertaken by him, which had failed ; or 
which he had given up as hastily as he had begun them. " Be- 
sides," said she, "may be he might change his mind about me 
as well as about other things; for I've heard from my cousin 
Milly — I've heard — that — he was in love, not very long since, 
with an actress in York. Do you think this is all true?" 

" Yes, I know it is all true," said Mr. Harrison, "for he told 
me so himself. He is an honest, open-hearted young man ; 
but I think as you do, child, that Ave cannot be sure of his 

When Marvel heard from Mr. Harrison the result of this con- 
versation, he was inspired with the strongest desire to convince 
Lucy that he was capable of perseverance. To the astonishment 
of all who knew him, or who thought that they knew him, he 
settled steadily to business ; and, for a whole twelvemonth, no 
one heard him speak of any new scheme. At the end of this 



time he renewed his proposal to Lucy ; saying that he hoped 
she would now have some dependence upon his constancy to 
her, since she had seen the power she had over his mind. Lucy 
was artless and affectionate, as well as prudent : now that her 
only real objection to the match was lessened, she did not 
torment him, to try her power ; but acknowledged her attach- 
ment to him, and they were married. 

Sir Plantagenet Mowbray's agent was much astonished that 
Lucy did not prefer him, because he was a much richer man 
than Pierce Marvel; and Miss Milly Harrison was also asto- 
nished that Mr. Marvel did not prefer her to such a country 
girl as Lucy, especially when she had a thousand pounds more 
to her fortune. But, notwithstanding all this astonishment, 
Marvel and his wife were perfectly happy. 

It was now the fifth year after old Mr. Pearson's death. 
Wright was at this time the richest of the three nephews ; for the 
money that he had laid out in draining Holland fen began to 
bring him in twenty per cent. As to Marvel, he had exchanged 
some of his finest acres for the warren of silver sprigs, the 
common full of thistles, and the marsh full of reeds : he had lost 
many guineas by his sheep and their jackets, and many more by 
his ill-fenced plantations : so that counting all the losses from 
the failure of his schemes and the waste of his time, he was a 
thousand pounds poorer than when he first came into possession 
of Clover-hill. 

Goodenough was not, according to the most accurate calcula- 
tions, one shilling richer or poorer than when he first began the 
world. " Slow and sure," said his friends : "fair and softly goes 
far in a day. What he has he'll hold fast; that's more than 
Marvel ever did, and may be more than Wright will do in the 
end. He dabbles a little in experiments, as he calls them : this 
he has learned from his friend Marvel ; and this will come to no 

About this time there was some appearance of a scarcity in 
England ; and many farmers set an unusual quantity of potatoes, 
in hopes that they would bear a high price the ensuing season. 
Goodenough, who feared and hated every thing that was called 
a speculation, declared that, for his part, he would not set a 
drill more than he used to do. What had always done for him 



and his should do for him still. With this resolution, he began 
to set his potatoes : Marvel said to him, whilst he was at work, 
" Cousin Goodenough, I would advise you not to set the shoots 
that are at the bottom of these potatoes ; foi*, if you do, they 
won't be good for any thing. This is a secret I learned last har- 
vest home, from one of my Irish haymakers. I made the ex- 
periment last year, and found the poor fellow w r as quite right. I 
have given him a guinea for his information ; and it will be worth 
a great deal more to me and my neighbours." 

"May be so," said Goodenough; "but I shall set my own 
potatoes my own way, I thank you, cousin Marvel ; for I take 
it the old way's best, and I'll never follow any other." 

Marvel saw that it was in vain to attempt to convince Good- 
enough : therefore he left him to his old ways. The consequence 
was, that Goodenough and his family ate the worst potatoes in 
the whole country this year ; and Marvel cleared above two hun- 
dred pounds by twenty acres of potatoes, set according to his 
friend the Irishman's directions. 

This was the first speculation of Marvel's which succeeded ; 
because it was the first which had been begun with prudence, 
and pursued with steadiness. His information, in the first 
instance, was good : it came from a person who had actually tried 
the experiment, and who had seen it made by others ; and w T hen 
he was convinced of the fact, he applied his knowledge at the 
proper time, boldly extended his experiment, and succeeded. 
This success raised him in the opinion even of his enemies. His 
friend, Wright, heartily rejoiced at it ; but Goodenough sneered, 
and said to Wright, " What Marvel has gained this year he'll 
lose by some scheme the next. I dare to say, now, he has some 
new scheme or another brewing in his brains at this very moment. 
Ay — look, here he comes, with two bits of rags in his hand. — 
Now for it ! " 

Marvel came up to them with great eagerness in his looks ; 
and showing two freshly-dyed patterns of cloth, said, " Which of 
these two blues is the brightest?" 

"That br, your left hand" said Wright; "it is a beautiful 

"Marvel rubbed his hands with an air of triumph; but 


restraining his joy, he addressed himself to Wright in a composed 

" My dear "Wright, I have many obligations to you ; and, if I 
have any good fortune, you shall be the first to share it with me. 
As for you, cousin Goodenough, I don't bear malice against you 
for laughing at me and my herons' feathers, and my silver 
sprigs, and my sheep's jackets, and my thistles : shake hands, 
man ; you shall have a share in our scheme, if you please." 

"I don't please to have no share at all in none of your 
schemes, cousin Marvel: I thank you kindly," said Good- 

" Had not you better hear what it is, before you decide against 
it?" said Wright. 

Marvel explained himself further : " Some time ago," said he, 
" I was with my father-in-law, who was dyeing some cloth with 
woad. I observed that one corner of the cloth was of much 
brighter blue than any of the rest; and upon examining what 
could be the cause of this, I found that the corner of the cloth 
had fallen upon the ground, as it was taken out of the dyeing 
vat, and had trailed through a mixture of colours, which I had 
accidentally spilled on the floor. I carefully recollected of what 
this mixture was composed : I found that woad was the princi- 
pal ingredient ; the other is a secret. I have repeated my 

experiments several times, and I find that they have always 
succeeded : I was determined not to speak of my discovery 
till I was sure of the facts. Now I'm sure of them, my father- 
in-law tells me that he and his brother at York could ensure 
to me an advantageous sale for as much blue cloth as I can 
prepare; and he advised me to take out a patent for the 

Goodenough had not patience to listen any longer, but ex- 
claimed : 

" Join in a patent! that's more than I would do, I'm sure, 
cousin Marvel ; so don't think to take me in: I'll end as I began, 
without having any thing to do with any of your new-fangled 
schemes — Good morning to you." 

" I hope, Wright," said Marvel, proudly, " that you do not 
suspect me of any design to take you in ; and that you will have 



some confidence in this scheme, when you find that my experi- 
ments have been accurately tried." 

Wright assured Marvel that he had the utmost confidence in 
his integrity ; and that he would carefully go over with him anv 
experiments he chose to show him. " I do not want to worm 
your secret from you," said he ; "but we must make ourselves 
sure of success before we go to take out a patent, which will be 
an expensive business." 

" You are exactly the sort of man I should wish to have for 
my partner," cried Marvel, "for you have all the coolness and 
prudence that I want." 

" And you have all the quickness and ingenuity that I want," 
replied Wright ; " so, between us, we should indeed, as you say, 
make good partners." 

A partnership was soon established between Wright and 
Marvel. The woad apparatus, which belonged to Wright's 
father-in-law, was given up to the creditors to pay the debts ; 
but none of these creditors understood the management of it, or 
were willing to engage in it, lest they should ruin themselves. 
Marvel prevailed upon Wright to keep it in his own hands : and 
the creditors, who had been well satisfied by his wife's conduct 
towards them, and who had great confidence in his character 
for prudence, relinquished their claims upon the property, and 
trusted to Wright's promise, that they should be gradually paid 
by instalments. 

"See what it is to have chosen a good wife," said Wright. 
" Good character is often better than good fortune." 

The wife returned the husband's compliment ; but we must 
pass over such unfashionable conversation, and proceed with our 

The reader may recollect our mentioning a little boy, who 
carried a message from Wright to Miss Banks the day that he 
called upon her, on his return from York. She had been very 
good to this boy, and he was of a grateful temper. After he left 
her father's service, he was hired by a gentleman, who lived 
near Spalding, and for some time she had heard nothing of him : 
but, about a year after she was married, his master paid a visit 
:h Lincolnshire, and the lad early one morning came to see his 
41 old young mistress." He came so very early that none of the 

Popular Tales. n 



family were stirring, except Marvel, who had risen by daybreak 
to finish some repairs that he was making in the woad apparatus. 
He recognized the boy the moment he saw him, and welcomed 
him with his usual good-nature. 

"Ah, sir ! " said the lad, " I he's glad to see things going on 
here again. I he's main glad to hear how young mistress is 
happy ! But I must be back afore my own present master be's up ; 
so will you be pleased to give my sarvice and duty, and here's a 
little sort of a tea-chest for her, that I made with the help of a 
fellow-sarvant of mine. If so be she'll think well of taking it, I 
should be very proud : it has a lock and key and all." 

Marvel was astonished at the workmanship of this tea-chest ; 
and when he expressed his admiration, the boy said, " Oh, sir ! 
all the difficulty parts were done by my fellow-sarvant, who is 
more handy like than I am, ten to one, though he is a French- 
man. He was one of them French prisoners, and is a curious 
man. He would have liked of all things to have come here 
along with me this morning, to get a sight of what's going on 
here ; because that they have woad mills and the like in his 
own country, he says ; but then he would not come spying with- 
out leave, being a civil honest man." 

Marvel told the boy that his fellow-servant should be heartily 
welcome to satisfy his curiosity ; and the next morning the 
Frenchman came. He was a native of Languedoc, where woad 
is cultivated : he had been engaged in the manufacture of it, 
and Marvel soon found, by his conversation, that he was a well- 
informed, intelligent man. He told Marvel that there were many 
natives of Languedoc, at this time, prisoners in England, who 
understood the business as well as he did, and would be glad to 
be employed, or to sell their knowledge at a reasonable price. 
Marvel was not too proud to learn, even from a Frenchman. 
With Wright's consent, he employed several of these workmen ; 
and he carried, by their means, the manufacture of woad to a 
high pitch of perfection. How success changes the opinion of 
men ! The Lincolnshire farmers, who had formerly sneered at 
Marvel as a genius and a projector, began to look up to him as 
to a very wise and knowing man, when they saw this manu- 
factory continue to thrive; and those who had blamed Wright, 
for entering into partnership with him, now changed their minds. 


Neither of them could have done separately what they both 
effected by their union. 

At the end of the ten years, Goodenough was precisely where 
he was when he began ; neither richer nor poorer ; neither wiser 
nor happier ; all that he had added to his stock was a cross wife 
and two cross children. He, to the very last moment, persisted 
in the belief that he should be the richest of the three, and that 
Wright and Marvel would finish by being bankrupts. He was 
in unutterable astonishment, when, upon the appointed day, they 
produced their account-books to Mr. Constantine, the executor, 
and it was found that they were many thousand pounds better in 
the world than himself. 

"Now, gentlemen," said Mr. Constantine, "to which of you 
am I to give your uncle's legacy? I must know which of the 
partners has the greatest share in the manufactory." 

« Wright has the greatest share," cried Marvel ; " for without 
his prudence I should have been ruined." 

"Marvel has the greatest share," cried Wright: "for without 
his ingenuity I should never have succeeded in the business, nor 
indeed should I have undertaken it." 

"Then, gentlemen, you must divide the legacy between you," 
said Mr. Constantine, " and I give you joy of your happy part- 
nership. What can be more advantageous than a partnership 
between prudence and justice on the one side, and generosity and 
abilities on the other ?" 

June, 1800. 



It was Sunday morning, and a fine day in autumn ; the bells of 
Hereford cathedral rang, and all the world smartly dressed were 
flocking to church. 

" Mrs. Hill ! Mrs. Hill .'— Phcebe ! Phoebe ! There's the 
cathedra] bell, I say, and neither of you ready for church, and 
I a verger;" cried Mr. Hill, the tanner, as he stood at the 
bottom of his own staircase. "I'm ready, papa," replied 
Phcebe ; and down she came, looking so clean, so fresh, and so 
gay, that her stern father's brows unbent, and he could only say 
to her, as she was drawing on a new pair of gloves, " Child, you 
ought to have had those gloves on before this time of day." 

"Before this time of day!" cried Mrs. Hill, who was now 
coming down stairs completely equipped, " before this time of 
day ! she should know better, I say, than to put on those gloves 
at all : more especially when going to the cathedral." 

" The gloves are very good gloves, as far as I see," replied 
Mr. Hill. "But no matter now. It is more fitting that we 
should be in proper time in our pew, to set an example, as 
becomes us, than to stand here talking of gloves and nonsense." 

He offered his wife and daughter each an arm, and set out 
for the cathedra] ; hut Phcebe was too busy in drawing on 
her new gloves, and her mother was too angry at the sight of 
them, to accept of Mr. Hill's courtesy : " What I say is always 
nonsense, I know, Mr. Hill," resumed the matron: "but I can 
see as far into a millstone as other folks. Was it not I that first 
gave you a hint of what became of the great dog, that we lost 
out of our tan-yard last winter ? And was it not I who first took 
notice to you, Mr. Hill, verger as you are, of the hole under the 
foundation of the cathedral ? Was it not, I ask you, Mr. Hill ?" 



" But, my dear Mrs. Hill, what has all this to do with. 
Phoebe's gloves?" 

" Are you blind, Mr. Hill? Don't you see that they are 
Limerick gloves?" 

"What of that?" said Mr. Hill; still preserving his com- 
posure, as it was his custom to do as long as he could, when he 
saw his wife was ruffled. 

" What of that, Mr. Hill ! why don't you know that Limerick 
is in Ireland, Mr. Hill?" 

" With all my heart, my dear." 

" Yes, and with all your heart, I suppose, Mr. Hill, you 
would see our cathedral blown up, some fair day or other, and 
your own daughter married to the person that did it ; and you 
a verger, Mr. Hill." 

" God forbid!" cried Mr. Hill; and he stopped short and 
settled his wig. Presently recovering himself, he added, " But, 
Mrs. Hill, the cathedral is not yet blown up ; and our Phcebe is 
not yet married." 

" No : but what of that, Mr. Hill? Forewarned is forearmed, 
as I told you before your dog was gone ; but you would not 
believe me, and you see how it turned out in that case ; and so 
it will in this case, you'll see, Mr. Hill." 

" But you puzzle and frighten me out of my wits, Mrs. Hill," 
said the verger, again settling his wig. " In that case and in 
this case ! I can't understand a syllable of what you've been 
saying to me this half hour. In plain English, what is there 
the matter about Phoebe's gloves ?" 

" In plain English, then, Mr. Hill, since you can understand 
nothing else, please to ask your daughter Phcebe who gave her 
those gloves. Phcebe, who gave you those gloves?" 

" I wish they were burnt," said the husband, whose patience 
could endure no longer. " Who gave you those cursed gloves, 

" Papa," answered Phcebe, in a low voice, " they were a pre- 
sent from Mr. Brian O'Neill." 

" The Irish glover," cried Mr. Hill, with a look of terror. 

" Yes," resumed the mother; "very true, Mr. Hill, I assure 
you. Now, you see, I had my reasons." 

" Take off the gloves directly : I order you, Phcebe," said her 



father, in his most peremptory tone. " I took a mortal dislike 
to that Mr. Brian O'Neill the first time I ever saw him. He's 
an Irishman, and that's enough, and too much for me. Off 
with the gloves, Phcebe ! "When I order a thing, it must be 

Phcebe seemed to find some difficulty in getting off the gloves, 
and gently urged that she could not well go into the cathedral 
without them. This objection was immediately removed, by her 
mother's pulling from her pocket a pair of mittens, which had 
once been brown, and once been whole, but which were now 
rent in sundry places ; and which, having been long stretched 
by one who was twice the size of Phcebe, now hung in huge 
wrinkles upon her well-turned arms. 

" But, papa," said Phcebe, "why should we take a dislike to 
him because he is an Irishman ? Cannot an Irishman be a good 
man ?" 

The verger made no answer to this question, but a few 
seconds after it was put to him, observed that the cathedral bell 
had just done ringing ; and, as they were now got to the church 
door, Mrs. Hill, with a significant look at Phcebe, remarked 
that it was no proper time to talk or think of good men, or 
bad men, or Irishmen, or any men, especially for a verger's 

We pass over in silence the many conjectures that were made 
by several of the congregation, concerning the reason why Miss 
Phcebe Hill should appear in such a shameful shabby pair of 
gloves on a Sunday. After service was ended, the verger went, 
with great mystery, to examine the hole under the foundation of 
the cathedral ; and Mrs. Hill repaired, with the grocer's and the 
stationer's ladies, to take a walk in the Close ; where she 
boasted to all her female acquaintance, whom she called her 
friends, of her maternal discretion in prevailing upon Mr. Hill 
to forbid her daughter Phcebe to wear the Limerick gloves. 

In the mean time, Phcebe walked pensively homewards ; 
endeavouring to discover why her father should take a mortal 
dislike to a man, at first sight, merely because he was an Irish- 
man ; and why her mother had talked so much of the great dog, 
which had been lost last year out of the tan-yard ; and of the 
hole under the foundation of the cathedral ! What has all 



this to do with my Limerick gloves ? thought she. The more 
she thought, the less connexion she could perceive between 
these things : for as she had not taken a dislike to Mr. 
Brian O'Neill at first sight, because he was an Irishman, she 
could not think it quite reasonable to suspect him of making away 
with her father's dog ; nor yet of a design to blow up Hereford 
cathedral. As she was pondering upon these matters, she came 
within sight of the ruins of a poor woman's house, which a few 
months before this time had been burnt down. She recollected 
that her first acquaintance with her lover began at the time of 
this fire ; and she thought that the courage and humanity he 
showed, in exerting himself to save this unfortunate woman and 
her children, justified her notion of the possibility that an Irish- 
man might be a good man. 

The name of the poor woman, whose house had been burnt 
down, was Smith : she was a widow, and she now lived at the 
extremity of a narrow lane in a wretched habitation. Why 
Phoebe thought of her with more concern than usual at this 
instant we need not examine, but she did ; and, reproaching 
herself for having neglected it for some weeks past, she resolved 
to go directly to see the widow Smith, and to give her a crown 
which she had long had in her pocket, with which she had in- 
tended to have bought play tickets. 

It happened that the first person she saw in the poor widow's 
kitchen was the identical Mr. O'Neill. " I did not expect to see 
any body here but you, Mrs. Smith," said Phcebe, blushing. 

" So much the greater the pleasure of the meeting ; to me, I 
mean, Miss Hill," said O'Neill, rising, and putting down a little 
boy, with whom he had been playing. Phcebe went on talking 
to the poor woman ; and, after slipping the crown into her hand, 
said she would call again. O'Neill, surprised at the change in 
her manner, followed her when she left the house, and said, " It 
would be a great misfortune to me to have done any thing to 
offend Miss Hill ; especially if I could not conceive how or what 
it was, which is my case at this present speaking." And, as the 
spruce glover spoke, he fixed his eyes upon Phcebe'" ragged 
gloves. She drew them up in vain ; and then said, with her 
natural simplicity and gentleness, "You have not done any thing 
to offend me, Mr. O'Neill ; but you are some way or other dis- 



pleasing to my father and mother, and they have forbid me to 
wear the Limerick gloves." 

" And sure Miss Hill would not be after changing her opinion 
of her humble servant for no reason in life, but because her 
father and mother, who have taken a prejudice against him, are 
a little contrary." 

" No," replied Phoebe ; "I should not change my opinion 
without any reason ; but I have not yet had time to fix my opi- 
nion of you, Mr. O'Neill." 

"To let you know a piece of my mind, then, my dear Miss 
Hill," resumed he, "the more contrary they are, the more pride 
and joy it would give me to win and wear you, in spite of 'em 
all ; and if without a farthing in your pocket, so much the more 
I should rejoice in the opportunity of proving to your dear self, 
and all else whom it may consarn, that Brian O'Neill is no 
fortune-hunter, and scorns them that are so narrow-minded as to 
think that no other kind of cattle but them there fortune-hunters 
can come out of all Ireland. So, my dear Phcebe, now we 
understand one another, I hope you will not be paining my eyes 
any longer with the sight of these odious brown bags, which are 
not fit to be worn by any Christian arms, to say nothing of Miss 
HilVs, which are the handsomest, without any compliment, that 
ever I saw ; and, to my mind, would become a pair of Limerick 
gloves beyond any thing: and I expect she'll show her generosity 
and proper spirit by putting them on immediately." 

"You expect, sir!" repeated Miss Hill, with a look of more 
indignation than her gentle countenance had ever before been 
seen to assume. " Expect ! " If he had said hope, thought she, 
it would have been another thing : but expect ! what right has 
he to expect? 

Now Miss Hill, unfortunately, was not sufficiently acquainted 
with the Irish idiom, to know, that to expect, in Ireland, is the 
same thing as to hope in England ; and, when her Irish admirer 
said I expect, he meant only in plain English, I hope. But thus 
it is that a poor Irishman, often, for want of understanding the 
niceties of the English language, says the rudest when he means 
to say the civillest things imaginable. 

Miss Hill's feelings were so much hurt by this unlucky " 1 
expect," that the whole of his speech, which had before made 


some favourable impression upon her, now lost its effect ; and she 
replied with pi*oper spirit, as she thought, " You expect a great 
deal too much, Mr. O'Neill ; and more than ever I gave you 
reason to do. It would be neither pleasure nor pride to me to be 
won and worn, as you were pleased to say, in spite of them all ; 
and to be thrown, without a farthing in my pocket, upon the 
protection of one who expects so much at first setting out. — So I 
assure you, sir, whatever you may expect, I shall not put on the 
Limerick gloves." 

Mr. O'Neill was not without his share of pride and proper 
spirit ; nay, he had, it must be confessed, in common with some 
others of his countrymen, an improper share of pride and spirit. 
Fired by the lady's coldness, he poured forth a volley of re- 
proaches ; and ended by wishing, as he said, a good morning, 
for ever and ever, to one who could change her opinion, point 
blank, like the weathercock. " I am, miss, your most obedient ; 
and I expect you'll never think no more of poor Brian O'Neill, 
and the Limerick gloves." 

If he had not been in too great a passion to observe anything, 
poor Brian O'Neill would have found out that Phcebe was not a 
weathercock : but he left her abruptly, and hurried away, ima- 
gining all the while that it was Phcebe, and not himself, who was 
in a rage. Thus, to the horseman, who is galloping at full speed, 
the hedges, trees, and houses, seem rapidly to recede ; whilst, in 
reality, they never move from their places. It is he that Hies 
from them, and not they from him. 

On Monday morning Miss Jenny Brown, the perfumer's 
daughter, came to pay Phcebe a morning visit, with face of 
busy joy. 

"So, my dear!" said she: " fine doings in Hereford! but 
what makes you look so downcast? To be sure you are invited, 
as well as the rest of us." 

" Invited where?" cried Mrs. Hill, who was present, and who 
could never endure to hear of an invitation in which she was not 
included. "Invited where, pray, Miss Jenny?" 

" La ! have not you heard ? Why, we all took it for granted 
that you and Miss Phcebe would have been the first and foremost 
to have been asked to Mr. O'Neill's ball." 

" Bail ! " cried Mrs. Kill ; and luckily saved Phoebe, who was 



in some agitation, the trouble of speaking. " Why, this is a 
mighty sudden thing : I never heard a tittle of it before." 

" Weil, this is really extraordinary ! And, Phcebe, have you 
not received a pair of Limerick gloves?" 

"Yes, I have," said Phcebe, "but what then? What have 
my Limerick gloves to do with the ball?" 

"A great deal," replied Jenny. "Don't you know, that a 
pair of Limerick gloves is, as one may say, a ticket to this ball ? 
for every lady that has been asked has had a pair sent to her 
along with the card ; and I bciieve as many as twenty, besides 
myself, have been asked this morning." 

Jenny then produced her new pair of Limerick gloves ; and 
as she tried them on, and showed how well they fitted, she 
counted up the names of the ladies who, to her knowledge, were 
to be at this ball. When she had finished the catalogue, she 
expatiated upon the grand preparations which it was said the 
widow O'Neill, Mr. O'Neill's mother, was making for the supper; 
and concluded by condoling with Mrs. Hill for her misfortune in 
not having been invited. Jenny took her leave, to get her dress 
in readiness: "for," added she, "Mr. O'Neill has engaged me 
to open the ball, in case Phcebe does not go : but I suppose she 
will cheer up and go, as she has a pair of Limerick gloves as 
well as the rest of us." 

There was a silence for some minutes after Jenny's departure, 
which was broken by Phcebe, who told her mother that, early in 
the morning, a note had been brought to her, which she had 
returned unopened; because she knew, from the hand-writing of 
the direction, that it came from Mr. O'Neill. 

W r e must observe that Phcebe had already told her mother of 
her meeting with this gentleman at the poor widow's, and of all 
that had passed between them afterwards. This openness, on 
her part, had softened the heart of Mrs. Hill ; who was really 
inclined to be good-natured, provided people would allow that 
she had more penetration than any one else in Hereford. She 
was moreover a good deal piqued and alarmed by the idea that 
the perfumer's daughter might rival and outshine her own. 
Whilst she had thought herself sure of Mr. O'Neill's attachment 
to Phcebe, she had looked higher ; especially as she was per- 
Euaded, by the perfumer's lady, to think that an Irishman could 



not be a bad match : but now she began to suspect that the 
perfumer's lady had changed her opinion of Irishmen, since she 
did not object to her own Jenny's leading up the ball at Mr. 

All these thoughts passed rapidly in the mother's mind ; and, 
with her fear of losing an admirer for her Phcebe, the value of 
that admirer suddenly rose in her estimation. Thus, at an 
auction, if a lot is going to be knocked down to a lady, who is 
the only person that has bid for it, even she feels discontented, 
and despises that which nobody covets ; but if, as the hammer 
is falling, many voices answer to the question, Who bids more ? 
then her anxiety to secure the prize suddenly rises ; and, rather 
than be outbid, she will give far beyond its value. 

"Why, child," said Mrs. Hill, "since you have a pair of 
Limerick gloves ; and since certainly that note was an invitation 
to us to this ball ; and since it is much more fitting that you 
should open the ball than Jenny Brown ; and since, after all, it 
was very handsome and genteel of the young man to say he 
would take you without a farthing in your pocket, which shows 
that those were misinformed who talked of him as an Irish 
adventurer; and since we are not certain 'twas he made away 
with the dog, although he said its barking was a great nuisance ; 
there is no great reason to suppose he was the person who made 
the hole under the foundation of the cathedral, or that he could 
have such a wicked thought as to blow it up ; and since he must 
be in a very good way of business to be able to afford giving 
away four or five guineas' worth of Limerick gloves, and balls 
and suppers ; and since, after all, it is no fault of his to be an 
Irishman ; I give it as my vote and opinion, my dear, that you 
put on your Limerick gloves and go to this ball ; and I'll go and 
speak to your father, and bring him round to our opinion ; and 
then I'll pay the morning visit I owe to the widow O'Neill, and 
make up your quarrel with Brian. Love quarrels are easy to 
make up, you know ; and then we shall have things all upon 
velvet again ; and Jenny Brown need not come with her hypo- 
critical condoling face to us anymore." 

After running this speech glibly off* Mrs. Hill, without waiting 
to hear a syllable from poor Phcebe, trotted off in search of her 
consort. It was not, however, quite so easy a task as his wife 



expected to bring Mr. Hill round to her opinion. He was slow- 
in declaring himself of any opinion ; but, when once he had said 
a thing, there was but little chance of altering his notions. On 
this occasion, Mr. Hill was doubly bound to his prejudice against 
our unlucky Irishman ; for he had mentioned with great 
solemnity at the club which he frequented, the grand affair of 
the hole under the foundation of the cathedral ; and his suspi- 
cions that there was a design to blow it up. Several of the club 
had laughed at this idea ; others, who supposed that Mr. O'Neill 
was a Roman Catholic, and who had a confused notion that a 
Roman Catholic must be a very wicked, dangerous being, 
thought that there might be a great deal in the verger's sug- 
gestions ; and observed that a very watchful eye ought to be 
kept upon this Irish glover, who had come to settle at Hereford 
nobody knew why, and who seemed to have money at command 
nobody knew how. 

The news of this ball sounded to Mr. Hill's prejudiced imagi- 
nation like the news of a conspiracy. Ay ! ay ! thought he ; 
the Irishman is cunning enough ! But we shall be too many for 
him : he wants to throw all the good sober folks of Hereford off 
their guard, by feasting, and dancing, and carousing, I take it ; 
and so to perpetrate his evil designs when it is least suspected ; 
but we shall be prepared for him, fools as he takes us plain 
Englishmen to be, I warrant. 

In consequence of these most shrewd cogitations, our verger 
silenced his wife with a peremptory nod, when she came to per- 
suade him to let Phcebe put on the Limerick gloves, and go to 
the ball. " To this ball she shall not go ; and I charge her not 
to put on those Limerick gloves, as she values my blessing," 
said Mr. Hill " Please to tell her so, Mrs. Hill, and trust to 
my judgment and discretion in all things, Mrs. Hill. Strange 
work may be in Hereford yet : but I'll say no more ; I must go 
and consult with knowing men, who are of my opinion." 

He sallied forth, and Mrs. Hill was left in a state which only 
those who are troubled with the disease of excessive curiosity can 
rightly comprehend or compassionate. She hied her back to 
Phcebe, to whom she announced her father's answer; and then 
went gossipping to all her female acquaintance. in Hereford, tc 
tell them all that she knew, and all that she did not know; and to 



endeavour to find out a secret where there was none to be 

There are trials of temper in all conditions : and no lady, in 
high or low life, could endure them with a better grace than 
Phcebe. Whilst Mr. and Mrs. Hill were busied abroad, there 
came to see Phcebe one of the widow Smith's children. With 
artless expressions of gratitude to Phcebe, this little girl mixed 
the praises of O'Neill, who, she said, had been the constant friend 
of her mother, and had given her money every week since the 
fire happened. " Mammy loves him dearly, for being so good- 
natured," continued the child : "and he has been good toother 
people as well as to us." 

" To whom ?" said Phcebe. 

" To a poor man who has lodged for these few days past next 
door to us," replied the child; " I don't know his name rightly, 
but he is an Irishman ; and he goes out a-haymaking in the day- 
time, along with a number of others. He knew Mr. O'Neill in 
his own country, and he told mammy a great deal about his 

As the child finished these words, Phcebe took out of a drawer 
some clothes, which she had made for the poor woman's children, 
and gave them to the little girl. It happened that the Limerick 
gloves had been thrown into this drawer; and Phoebe's favourable 
sentiments of the giver of those gloves were revived by what she 
had just heard, and by the confession Mrs. Hill had made, that 
she had no reasons, and but vague suspicions, for thinking ill of 
him. She laid the gloves perfectly smooth, and strewed over 
them, whilst the little girl went on talking of Mr. O'Neill, the 
leaves of a rose which she had worn on Sunday. 

Mr. Hill was all this time in deep conference with those pru- 
dent men of Hereford, who were of his own opinion, about the 
perilous hole under the cathedral. The ominous circumstance 
of this ball was also considered, the great expense at which the 
Irish glover lived, and his giving away gloves ; which was a 
sure sign he was not under any necessity to sell them ; and con- 
sequently a proof that, though he pretended to be a glover, he 
was something wrong in disguise. Upon putting all these things 
together, it was resolved, by these over-wise politicians, that the 
best thing that could be done for Hereford, and the only 



possible means of preventing the immediate destruction of its 
cathedral, would be to take Mr. O'Neill into custody. Upon 
recollection, however, it was perceived that there was no legal 
ground on which he could be attacked. At length, after con- 
sulting an attorney, they devised what they thought an admirable 
mode of proceeding. 

Our Irish hero had not that punctuality which English 
tradesmen usually observe in .the payment of bills : he had, the 
preceding year, run up a long hill with a grocer in Hereford ; 
and, as he had not at Christmas cash in hand to pay it, he had 
given a note, payable six months after date. The grocer, at Mr. 
Hill's request, made over the note to him ; and it was determined 
that the money should he demanded, as it was now due, and that, 
if it was not paid directly, O'Neill should be that night arrested. 
How Mr. Hill made the discovery of this debt to the grocer 
agree with his former notion that the Irish glover had always 
money at command, we cannot well conceive ; but anger and 
prejudice will swallow down the grossest contradictions without 

When Mr. Hill's clerk w r ent to demand payment of the note, 
O'Neill's head was full of the ball which he was to give that 
evening. He was much surprised at the unexpected appearance 
of the note : he had not ready money by him to pay it; and, 
after swearing a good deal at the clerk, and complaining of this 
ungenerous and ungentleman-like behaviour in the grocer and 
the tanner, he told the clerk to be gone, and not to he bothering 
him at such an unseasonable time ; that he could not have the 
money then, and did not deserve to have it at all. 

This language and conduct were rather new to the English 
clerk's mercantile ears : we cannot wonder that it should seem 
to him, as he said to his master, more the language of a madman 
than a man of business. This want of punctuality in money 
transactions, and this mode of treating contracts as matters of 
favour and affection, might not have damned the fame of our 
hero in his own country, where such conduct is, alas ! too 
common ; but he was now in a kingdom where the manners and 
customs are so directly opposite, that he could meet with no 
allowance for his national faults. It would he well for his 
countrymen if they were made, even by a few mortifications, 



somewhat sensible of this important difference in the habits 
of Irish and English traders, before they come to settle in 

But, to proceed with our story. On the night of Mr. O'Neill's 
grand ball, as he was seeing his fair partner, the perfumer's 
daughter, safe home, he felt himself tapped on the shoulder by no 
friendly hand. When he was told that he was the king's prisoner, 
he vociferated with sundry strange oaths, which we forbear to 
repeat, "No, I am not the king's prisoner! I am the prisoner of 
that shabby rascally tanner, Jonathan Hill. None but he would 
arrest a gentleman, in this way, for a trifle not worth mention- 

Miss Jenny Brown screamed when she found herself under 
the protection of a man who was arrested ; and, what between 
her screams and his oaths, there was such a disturbance that a 
mob gathered. 

Among this mob there was a party of Irish haymakers, who, 
after returning late from a hard day's work, had been di-inking 
in a neighbouring ale-house. With one accord they took part 
with their countryman, and would have rescued him from the 
civil officers with all the pleasure in life, if he had not fortunately 
possessed just sufficient sense and command of himself, to 
restrain their party spirit, and to forbid them, as they valued his 
life and reputation, to interfere, by word or deed, in his 

He then despatched one of the haymakers home to his 
mother, to inform her of what had happened; and to recruest 
that she would get somebody to be bail for him as soon as 
possible, as the officers said they could not let him out of their 
sight till he was hailed by substantial people, or till the debt was 

The widow O'Neill was just putting out the candles in the 
ball-room when this news of her son's arrest was brought to her. 
We pass over Hibernian exclamations : she consoled her pride 
by reflecting that it would certainly be the most easy thing- 
imaginable to procure bail for Mr. O'Neill in Hereford, where 
he had so many friends who had just been dancing at his house , 
but to dance at his house she found was one tiling, and to be 
bail for him quite another. Each guest sent excuses ; and the 



widow O'Neill was astonished at what never fails to astonish 
every body when it happens to themselves. " Rather than let 
my son be detained in this manner for a paltry debt," cried she, 
" I'd sell all I have within half an hour to a pawnbroker." It was 
Avell no pawnbroker heard this declaration : she was too warm 
to consider economy. She sent for a pawnbroker, who lived in 
the same street, and, after pledging goods to treble the amount 
of the debt, she obtained ready money for her son's release. 

O'Neill, after being in custody for about an hour and a half, 
was set at liberty upon the payment of his debt. As he passed 
by the cathedral in his way home, he heard the clock strike ; 
and he called to a man, who was walking backwards and for- 
wards in the churchyard, to ask whether it was two or three 
that the clock struck. "Three," answered the man; "and, as 
yet, all is safe.' 

O'Neill, whose head was full of other things, did not stop to 
inquire the meaning of these last words. He little suspected 
that this man was a watchman, whom the over-vigilant verger 
had stationed there to guard the Hereford cathedral from his 
attacks. O'Neill little guessed that he had been arrested merely 
to keep him from blowing up the cathedral this night. The 
arrest had an excellent effect upon his mind, for he was a young 
man of good sense : it made him resolve to retrench his expenses 
in time, to live more like a glover and less like a gentleman ; 
and to aim more at establishing credit, and less at gaining 
popularity. He found, from experience, that good friends will 
not pay bad debts. 


On Thursday morning, our verger rose in unusually good 
spirits, congratulating himself upon the eminent service he had 
done to the city of Hereford, by his sagacity in discovering the 
foreign plot to blow up the cathedral, and by his dexterity in 
having the enemy held in custody, at the very hour when the 
dreadful deed was to have been perpetrated. Mr. Hill's know- 
ing friends farther agreed it would be necessary to have a guard 
that should sit up every night in the churchvard ; and that as 
Popular Tales 1 



soon as they could, by constantly watching the enemy's motions, 
procure any information which the attorney should deem suffi- 
cient grounds for a legal proceeding, they should lay the whole 
business before the mayor. 

After arranging all this most judiciously and mysteriously with 
friends who were exactly of his own opinion, Mr. Hill laid aside 
his dignity of verger ; and assuming his other character of a 
tanner proceeded to his tan-yard. What was his surprise and 
consternation, when he beheld his great rick of oak bark levelled 
to the ground; the pieces of bark were scattered far and wide, 
some over the close, some over the fields, and some were seen 
swimming upon the water ! No tongue, no pen, no muse can 
describe the feelings of our tanner at this spectacle ! feelings 
which became the more violent from the absolute silence which 
he imposed on himself upon this occasion. He instantly decided 
in his own mind, that this injury was perpetrated by O'Neill, in 
revenge for his arrest ; and went privately to the attorney 
to inquire what was to be done, on his part, to secure legal 

The attorney unluckily, or at least as Mr. Hill thought, un- 
luckily, had been sent for, half an hour before, by a gentleman 
at some distance from Hereford, to draw up a will ; so that our 
tanner was obliged to postpone his legal operations. 

We forbear to recount his return, and how many times he 
walked up and down the close to view his scattered bark, and to 
estimate the damage that had been done to him. At length 
that hour came which usually suspends all passions by the more 
imperious power of appetite — the hour of dinner ; an hour of 
which it was never needful to remind Mr. Hill by watch, clock, 
or dial; for he was blessed with a punctual appetite, and 
powerful as punctual : so powerful, indeed, that it often excited 
the spleen of his more genteel, or less hungry wife. — " Bless my 
stars, Mr. Hill," she would oftentimes say, " I am really down- 
right ashamed to see you eat so much; and when company is 
to dine with us, I do wish you would take a snack by way of 
a damper before dinner, that you may not look so prodigious 
famishing and ungenteel." 

Upon this hint, Mr. Hill commenced a practice, to which he 
ever afterwards religiously adhered, of going, whether there was 



to be company or no company, into the kitchen regularly every- 
day, half an hour before dinner, to take a slice from the roast 
or the boiled before it went up to table. As he was this day, 
according to his custom, in the kitchen, taking his snack by way 
of a damper, he heard the housemaid and the cook talking about 
some wonderful fortune-teller, whom the housemaid had been 
consulting. This fortune-teller was no less a personage than 
the successor to Bampfylde Moore Carew, king of the gipsies, 
whose life and adventures are probably in many, too many, of 
our readers' hands. Bampfylde, the second king of the gipsies, 
assumed this title, in hopes of becoming as famous, or as in- 
famous, as his predecessor : he was now holding his court in 
a wood near the town of Hereford, and numbers of servant- 
maids and 'prentices went to consult him — nay, it was whispered 
that he was resorted to, secretly, by some whose education might 
have taught them better sense. 

Numberless were the instances which our verger heard in his 
kitchen of the supernatural skill of this cunning man ; and 
whilst Mr. Hill ate his snack with his wonted gravity, he 
revohicd great designs in his secret soul. Mrs. Hill was sur- 
prised, several times during dinner, to see her consort put down 
his knife and fork, and meditate. " Gracious me, Mr. Hill, 
what can have happened to you this day? What can you be 
thinking of, Mr. Hill, that can make you forget what you have 
upon your plate ?" 

" Mrs. Hill," replied the thoughtful verger, "our grand- 
mother Eve had too much curiosity ; and we all know it did not 
lead to good. What I am thinking of will be known to you in 
due time, but not now, Mrs. Hill ; therefore, pray, no questions, 
or teasing, or pumping. What I think, I think ; what I say, 
I say ; what I know, I know ; and that is enough for you to 
know at present : only this, Phoebe, you did very well not to 
put on the Limerick gloves, child. What I know, I know. 
Things will turn out just as I said from the first. What I say, 
I say ; and what I think, I think ; and this is enough for you to 
know at present." 

Having finished dinner with this solemn speech, Mr. Ilili 
settled himself in his arm-chair, to take his after-dinner's nap;- 



and lie dreamed of blowing up cathedrals, and of oak bark 
floating upon the waters ; and the cathedral was, he thought, 
blown up by a man dressed in a pair of woman's Limerick 
gloves, and the oak bark turned into mutton steaks, after which 
his great dog Jowler was swimming; when, all on a sudden, as 
he was going to beat Jowler for eating the bark transformed 
into mutton steaks, Jowler became Bampfylde the second, king 
of the gipsies ; and putting a horsewhip with a silver handle 
into Hill's hand, commanded him three times, in a voice as loud 
as the town crier's, to have O'Neill whipped through the market- 
place of Hereford : but, just as he was going to the window to 
see this whipping, his wig fell off, and he awoke. 

It was difficult, even for Mr. Hill's sagacity, to make sense of 
this dream : but he had the wise art of always finding in his 
dreams something that confirmed his waking determinations. 
Before he went to sleep, he had half resolved to consult the 
king of the gipsies, in the absence of the attorney ; and his 
dream made him now wholly determined upon this prudent 
step. From Bampfylde the second, thought he, I shall learn 
for certain who made the hole under the cathedral, who pulled 
down my rick of bark, and who made away with my dog 
Jowler; and then I shall swear examinations against O'Neih 
without waiting for attorneys. I will follow my own way in this 
business : I have always found my own way best. 

So, when the dusk of the evening increased, our wise man 
set out towards the wood to consult the cunning man. Bamp- 
fylde the second, king of the gipsies, resided in a sort of hut 
made of the branches of trees : the verger stooped, but did not 
stoop low enough, as he entered this temporary palace ; and, 
whilst his body was almost bent double, his peruke was caught 
upon a twig. From this awkward situation he was relieved by 
the consort of the king ; and he now beheld, by the light of 
some embers, the person of his gipsy majesty, to whose sublime 
appearance this dim light was so favourable that it struck a 
secret awe into our wise man's soul ; and, forgetting Hereford 
cathedral, and oak bark, and Limerick gloves, he stood for some 
seconds speechless. During this time, the queen very dex- 
terously disencumbered his pocket of all superfluous articles. 



When he recovered his recollection, he put with great solemnity 
+he following queries to the king of the gipsies, and received the 
following answers : 

" Do you know a dangerous Irishman, of the name of 
O'Neill, who has come, for purposes best known to himself, to 
settle at Hereford ?" 

" Yes, we know him well." 

" Indeed ! And what do you know of him V 

" That he is a dangerous Irishman." 

" Right! And it was he, was it not, that pulled down, or 
caused to be pulled down, my rick of oak bark?" 
" It was." 

" And who was it that made away with my dog Jowler, that 
used to guard the tan-yard?" 

" It was the person that you suspect." 

" And was it the person whom I suspect that made the hole 
under the foundation of our cathedral ?" 
" The same, and no other." 

" And for what purpose did he make that hole?" 
" For a purpose that must not be named," replied the king of 
the gipsies ; nodding his head in a mysterious manner. 

" But it may be named to me," cried the verger, "for I have 
found it out, and I am one of the vergers ; and is it not fit that 
a plot to blow up the Hereford cathedral should be known to 
me, and through me?" 

" Now, take my word, 
Wise men of Hereford, 
None in safety may be, 
Till the bad man doth flee." 

These oracular verses, pronounced by Bampfylde with all the 
enthusiasm of one who was inspired, had the desired effect upon 
our wise man ; and he left the presence of the king of the 
gipsies with a prodigiously high opinion of his majesty's judg- 
ment and of his own, fully resolved to impart, the next morning, 
to the mayor of Hereford, his important discoveries. 

Now it happened that, during the time Mr. Hill was putting 
the foregoing queries to Bampfylde the second, there came to 
the door or entrance of the audience chamber, an Irish hay- 
maker, who wanted to consult the cunning man about a little 



leathern purse which he had lost, whilst he was making hay, in 
a field near Hereford. This haymaker was the same person 
who, as we have related, spoke so advantageously of our hero, 
O'Neill, to the widow Smith. As this man, whose name was 
Paddy M'Cormack, stood at the entrance of the gipsies' hut, his 
attention was caught by the name of O'Neill ; and he lost not 
a word of all that passed. He had reason to be somewhat sur- 
prised at hearing Bampfylde assert it was O'Neill who had 
pulled down the rick of bark. "By the holy poker," said he to 
himself, " the old fellow now is out there. I know more o' that 
matter than he does — no offence to his majesty : he knows no 
more of my purse, I'll engage now, than he does of this man's 
rick of bark and his dog : so I'll keep my tester in my pocket, 
and not be giving it to this king o' the gipsies, as they call him ; 
who, as near as I can guess, is no better than a cheat. But 
there is one secret which I can be telling this conjuror him- 
self; he shall not find it such an easy matter to do all what he 
thinks ; he shall not be after ruining an innocent country- 
man of my own, whilst Paddy M'Cormack has a tongue and 

Now Paddy M'Cormack had the best reason possible for 
knowing that Mr. O'Neill did not pull down Mr. Hill's rick of 
bark ; it was M'Cormack himself, who, in the heat of his resent- 
ment for the insulting arrest of his countryman in the streets of 
Hereford, had instigated his fellow haymakei-s to this mischief; 
he headed them, and thought he was doing a clever, spirited 

There is a strange mixture of virtue and vice in the minds of 
the lower class of Irish ; or rather a strange confusion in their 
ideas of right and wrong, from want of proper education. As 
soon as poor Paddy found out that his spirited action of pulling 
down the rick of bark was likely to be the ruin of his countrv- 
man, he resolved to make all the amends in his power for his 
folly : he went to collect his fellow haymakers and persuaded 
them to assist him this night in rebuilding what they had pulled 

They went to this work when every body except themselves, 
as they thought, was asleep in Hereford. They had just com- 
pleted the stack, and were all going away except Paddy, who was 



seated at the very top, finishing the pile, when they heard a loud 
voice cry out, " Here they are, Watch ! Watch ! " 

Immediately, all the haymakers, who could, ran off as fast as 
possible. It was the watch who had been sitting up at the 
cathedral who gave the alarm. Paddy was taken from the top 
of the rick, and lodged in the watchhouse till morning. " Since 
I'm to be rewarded this way for doing a good action, sorrow take 
me," said he, "if they catch me doing another the longest day 
ever I live." 

Happy they who have in their neighbourhood such a magis- 
trate as Mr. Marshal ! He was a man who, to an exact know- 
ledge of the duties of his office, joined the power of discovering 
truth from the midst of contradictory evidence ; and the happy 
art of soothing, or laughing, the angry passions into good- 
humour. It was a common saying in Hereford — that no one 
ever came out of Justice Marshal's house as angry as he went 
into it. 

Mr. Marshal had scarcely breakfasted when he was informed 
that Mr. Hill, the verger, wanted to speak to him on business of 
the utmost importance. Mr. Hill, the verger, was ushered 
in ; and, with gloomy solemnity, took a seat opposite to Mr. 

"Sad doings in Hereford, Mr. Marshal ! Sad doings, sir." 

"Sad doings? Why, I was told we had merry doings in 
Hereford. A ball the night before last, as I heard." 

" So much the worse, Mr. Marshal 5 so much the worse ; 
as those think with reason that see as far into things as I do." 

"So much the better, Mr. Hill," said Mr. Marshal, laughing; 
" so much the better ; as those think with reason that see no 
farther into things than I do." 

"But, sir," said the verger, still more solemnly, " this is no 
laughing matter, nor time for laughing ; begging your pardon. 
Why, sir, the night of that there diabolical ball, our Hereford 
cathedral, sir, would have been blown up — blown up from the 
foundation, if it had not been for me, sir!" 

" Indeed, Mr. Verger ! And pray how, and by whom, was the 
cathedral to be blown up ? and what was there diabolical in this 

Here Mr. Hill let Mr. Marshal into the whole history of his 



early dislike to O'Neill, and his shrewd suspicions of him the 
first moment he saw him in Hereford ; related in the most prolix 
manner all that the reader knows already, and concluded by 
saying that, as he was now certain of his facts, he was come to 
swear examinations against this villanous Irishman, who, he 
hoped, would he speedily brought to justice, as he deserved. 

" To justice he shall be brought, as he deserves," said Mr. 
Marsha] ; " but, before I write, and before you swear, will ycu 
have the goodness to inform me how you have made yourself as 
certain, as you evidently are, of what you call your facts V* 

" Sir, that is a secret," replied our wise man, " which I shall 
trust to you alone;" and he whispered into Mr. Marshal's ear 
that his information came from Bampfylde the second, king of 
the gipsies. 

Mr. Marshal instantly burst into laughter ; then composing 
himself said, " My good sir, I am really glad that you have pro- 
ceeded no farther in this business ; and that no one in Hereford, 
beside myself, knows that you were on the point of swearing 
examinations against a man on the evidence of Bampfylde the 
second, king of the gipsies 1 . My dear sir, it would be a standing 
joke against you to the end of your days. A grave man, like 
Mr. Hill ; and a verger too ! Why, you would be the laughing- 
stock of Hereford ! " 

Now Mr. Marshal well knew the character of the man to whom 
he was' talking, who, above all things on earth, dreaded to be 

1 The following passage is an extract from Colquhoun, On the Police of 
the Metropolis, page 69 : — " An instance of mischievous credulity, occa- 
sioned by consulting this impostor" (aman calling himself an astrologer, wko 
practised long in the Curtain-road, Shoreditch, London ; and ivho is said, in 
conjunction with his associates, to have made near 300Z. a year by practising 
on the credulity of the loiver order of the people), "fell lately under the 
review of a police magistrate. A person, having property stolen from him, 
went to consult the conjuror respecting the thief; who having described 
something like the person of a man whom he suspected, his credulity and 
folly so far got the better of his reason and reflection, as to induce him, 
upon the authority of this impostor, actually to charge his neighbour with a 
felony, and to cause him to be apprehended. The magistrate settled the 
matter by discharging the prisoner, reprimanding the accuser severely, and 
ordering the conjuror to be taken into custody, according to law, as a rogue 
and a vagabond." 



laughed at. Mr. Hill coloured all over his face, and, pushing 
back his wig by way of settling it, showed that he blushed not 
only all over his face but all over his head. 

"Why, Mr. Marshal, sir," said he, "as to my being laughed 
at, it is what I did not look for, being as there are some men in 
Hereford to whom I have mentioned that hole in the cathedral, 
who have thought it no laughing matter, and who have been 
precisely of my own opinion thereupon." 

" But did you tell these gentlemen that you had been con- 
sulting the king of the gipsies ?" 

" No, sir, no : I can't say that I did." 

"Then I advise you, keep your own counsel, as I will." 

Mr. Hill, whose imagination wavered between the hole in the 
cathedral and his rick of bark on one side, and between his rick 
of bark and his dog Jowler on the other, now began to talk of the 
dog, and now of the rick of bark ; and when he had exhausted 
all he had to say upon these subjects, Mr. Marshal gently pulled 
him towards the window, and putting a spy-glass into his hand, 
bid him look towards his own tan-yard, and tell him what he 
saw. To his great surprise, Mr. Hill saw his rick of bark rebuilt. 
" Why, it was not there last night," exclaimed he, rubbing his 
eyes. " Why, some conjuror must have done this." 

"No," replied Mr. Marshal, "no conjuror did it: but your 
friend Bampfylde the second, king of the gipsies, was the cause 
of its being rebuilt ; and here is the man who actually pulled it 
down, and who actually rebuilt it." 

As he said these words, Mr. Marshal opened the door of an 
adjoining room, and beckoned to the Irish haymaker, who had 
been taken into custody about an hour before this time. The 
watch who took Paddy had called at Mr. Hill's house to tell him 
what had happened, but Mr. Hill was not then at home. 

It was with much surprise that the verger heard the simple 
truth from this poor fellow ; but no sooner was he convinced that 
O'Neill was innocent as to this affair, than he recurred to his 
other ground of suspicion, the loss of his dog. 

The Irish haymaker now stepped forward, and, with a 
peculiar twist of the hips and shoulders, which those only who 
have seen it can picture to themselves, said, " Plase your honour's 
honour, I have a little word to say too about the dog." 



" Say it then," said Mr. Marshal. 

" Plase your honour, if I might expect to be forgiven, and let 
off for pulling down the jontleman's stack, I might be able to 
tell him what I know about the dog." 

" If you can tell me any thing about my dog," said the tanner, 
" I will freely forgive you for pulling down the rick : especially 
as you have built it up again. Speak the truth now : did not 
O'Neill make away with the dog ? " 

" Not at all at all, plase your honour," replied the haymaker : 
" and the truth of the matter is, I know nothing of the dog, good 
or bad ; but I know something of his collar, if your name, plase 
your honour, is Hill, as I take it to be? " 

"My name is Hill: proceed," said the tanner, with great 
eagerness. " You know something about the collar of my dog 
Jowler ? " 

" Plase your honour, this much I know any way, that it is now 
or was the night before last, at the pawnbroker's there, below in 
town ; for, plase your honour, I was sent late at night (that night 
that Mr. O'Neill, long life to him ! was arrested) to the pawn- 
broker's for a Jew, by Mrs. O'Neill, poor creature ! she was in 
great trouble that same time." 

"Very likely," interrupted Mr. Hill: "but go on to the 
collar ; what of the collar V 

" She sent me, — I'll tell you the story, plase your honour, out 
of the face — she sent me to the pawnbroker's for the Jew ; and, 
it being so late at night, the shop was shut, and it was with all 
the trouble in life that I got into the house any way : and, when 
I got in, there was none but a slip of a boy up ; and he set down 
the light that he had in his hand, and ran up the stairs to waken 
his master : and, whilst he was gone, I just made bold to look round 
at what sort of a place I was in, and at the old clothes and rags 
and scraps ; there was a sort of a frieze trusty." 

" A trusty ! " said Mr. Hill ; " what is that pray ? " 

" A big coat, sure, plase your honour: there was a frieze big 
coat lying in a corner, which I had my eye upon, to trate myself 
to; I having, as I then thought, money in my little purse enough 
for it. Well, I won't trouble your honour's honour with telling 
of you now how I lost my purse in the field, as I found after ; 
but about the big coat, as I was saying, I just lifted it off the 



ground, to see would it fit me; and, as I swung it round, some- 
thing, plase your honour, hit me a great knock on the shins : it 
was in the pocket of the coat, whatever it was, I knew ; so I 
looks into the pocket, to see what was it, plase your honour, and 
out I pulls a hammer and a dog-collar ; it was a wonder, both 
together, they did not break my shins entirely : but it's no 
matter for my shins now: so, before the boy came down, I just 
out of idleness spelt out to myself the name that was upon the 
collar : there were two names, plase your honour ; and out of 
the first there were so many letters hammered out I could make 
nothing of it, at all at all ; but the other name was plain enough 
to read any way, and it was Hill, plase your honour's honour, 
as sure as life : Hill, now." 

This story was related in tones and gestures which were so 
new and strange to English ears and eyes, that even the solemnity 
of our verger gave way to laughter. — Mr. Marshal sent a summons 
for the pawnbroker, that he might learn from him how he came 
by the dog-collar. The pawnbroker, when he found from Mr. 
Marshal that he could by no other means save himself from 
being committed to prison, confessed that the collar had been 
sold to him by Bampfylde the second, king of the gipsies. 

A warrant was immediately despatched for his majesty : and 
Mr. Hill was a good deal alarmed, by the fear of its being known 
in Hereford that he was on the point of swearing examinations 
against an innocent man, upon the evidence of a dog-stealer and 
a gipsy. 

Bampfylde the second made no sublime appearance, when he 
was brought before Mr. Marshal ; nor could all his astrology 
avail upon this occasion : the evidence of the pawnbroker was 
so positive, as to the fact of his having sold to him the dog- 
collar, that there was no resource left for Bampfylde but an 
appeal to Mr. Hill's mercy. He fell on his knees, and confessed 
that it was he who stole the dog ; which used to bark at him at 
night so furiously that he could not commit certain petty 
depredations, by which, as much as by telling fortunes, he made 
liis livelihood. 

"And so," said Mr. Marshal, with a sternness of manner 
which till now he had never shown, "to screen yourself, you 
accused an innocent man ; and by your vile arts would have 



driven him from Hereford, and have set two families for ever at 
variance, to conceal that you had stolen a dog." 

The king of the gipsies was, without farther ceremony, com- 
mitted to the house of correction. We should not omit to 
mention, that, on searching his hut, the Irish haymaker's purse 
was found, which some of his majesty's train had emptied. The 
whole set of gipsies decamped, upon the news of the apprehension 
of their monarch. 

Mr. Hill stood in profound silence, leaning upon his walking- 
stick, whilst the committal was making out for Bampfylde the 
second. The fear of ridicule was struggling with the natural 
positiveness of his temper : he was dreadfully afraid that the 
story of his being taken in by the king of the gipsies would get 
abroad ; and, at the same time, he was unwilling to give up his 
prejudice against the Irish glover. 

"But, Mr. Marshal," cried he, after a long silence, "the hole 
under the foundation of the cathedral has never been accounted 
for : that is, was, and ever will be, an ugly mystery to me ; and 
I never can have a good opinion of this Irishman, till it is cleared 
up ; nor can I think the cathedral in safety." 

"What," said Mi*. Marshal, with an arch smile, "I suppose 
the verses of the oracle still work upon your imagination, Mr. 
Hill. They are excellent in their kind. I must have them by 
heart that, when I am asked the reason why Mr. Hill has taken 
an aversion to an Irish glover, I may be able to repeat them : 

' Now, take my word, 
Wise men of Hereford, 
None in safety may be, 
Till the bad man doth nee. 1 " 

" You'll oblige me, sir," said the verger, "if you would never 
repeat those verses, sir ; nor mention, in any company, the affair 
of the king of the gipsies." 

"I will oblige you," replied Mr. Marshal, "if you will oblige 
me. Will you tell me honestly whether now that you find this 
Mr. O'Neill is neither a dog-killer nor a puller down of bark 
ricks, you feel that you could forgive him for being an Irishman, 
if th* mystery, as you call it, of the hole under the cathedral was 
clea-o<i up?" 



" But that is not cleared up, I say, sir," cried Mr. Hill, striking 
his walking-stick forcibly upon the ground, with both his hands. 
" As to the matter of his being an Irishman, I have nothing to 
say to it : I am not saying any thing about that, for I know we 
all are born where it pleases God ; and an Irishman may be as 
good as another. I know that much, Mr. Marshal ; and I am 
not one of those illiberal-minded ignorant people that cannot 
abide a man that was not born in England. Ireland is now 
in his majesty's dominions, I know very well, Mr. Marshal ; 
and I have no manner of doubt, as I said before, that an 
Irishman born may be as good, almost, as an Englishman 

" I am glad," said Mr. Marshal, "to hear you speak, almost, 
as reasonably as an Englishman born and every man ought to 
speak; and I am convinced that you have too much English 
hospitality to persecute an inoffensive stranger, who comes 
amongst us trusting to our justice and good nature." 

" I would not persecute a stranger, God forbid ! " replied the 
verger, "if he was, as you say, inoffensive." 

" And if he was not only inoffensive, but ready to do every 
service in his power to those who are in want of his assistance, we 
should not return evil for good, should we?" 

" That would be uncharitable, to be sure ; and moreover a 
scandal," said the verger. 

" Then," said Mr. Marshal, " will you walk with me as far as 
the widow Smith's, the poor woman whose house was burnt last 
winter! This haymaker, who lodged near hex, can show us the 
way to her present abode." 

During his examination of Paddy M'Cormack, who would tell 
his whole history, as he called it, out of the face, Mr. Marshal 
heard several instances of the humanity and goodness of O'Neill, 
which Paddy related to excuse himself for that warmth of attach- 
ment to his cause, that had been manifested so injudiciously by 
pulling down the rick of bark in revenge for the arrest. Amongst 
other things, Paddy mentioned his countryman's goodness to the 
widow Smith : Mr. Marshal was determined, therefore, to see 
whether he had, in this instance, spoken the truth ; and he took 
Mr. Hill with him, in hopes of being able to show him the fa- 
vourable side of O'Neill's character. 



Things turned out just as Mr. Marshal expected. The poor 
widow and her family, in the most simple and affecting manner, 
described the distress from which they had been relieved by the 
good gentleman and lady, the lady was Phcebe Hill; and 
the praises that were bestowed upon Phcebe were delight- 
ful to her father's ear, whose angry passions had now all sub 

The benevolent Mr. Marshal seized the moment when he saw 
Mr. Hill's heart was touched, and exclaimed, " I must be ac- 
quainted with this Mr. O'Neill. I am sure we people of 
Hereford ought to show some hospitality to a stranger, who has 
so much humanity. Mr. Hill, will you dine with him to-morrow 
at my house ?" 

Mr. Hill was just going to accept of this invitation, when the 
recollection of all he had said to his club about the hole under 
the cathedral came across him ; and, drawing Mr. Marshal aside, 
he whispered, " But sir, sir, that affair of the hole under the 
cathedral has not been cleared up yet." 

At this instant, the widow Smith exclaimed, "Oh ! here comes 
my little Mary" (one of her children, who came running in) : 
" this is the little girl, sir, to whom the lady has been so good. 
Make your curtsy, child. Where have you been all this 

"Mammy," said the child, "I've been showing the lady my 

" Lord bless her ! Gentlemen, the child has been wanting me 
this many a day to go to see this tame rat of hers; but I could 
never get time, never : and I wondered too at the child's liking 
such a creature. Tell the gentlemen, dear, about your rat. All 
I know is, that, let her have but never such a tiny bit of bread, 
for breakfast or supper, she saves a little of that little for this rat 
of hers : she and her brothers have found it out somewhere by 
the cathedral." 

" It comes out of a hole under the wall of the cathedral," said 
one of the elder boys ; " and we have diverted ourselves watch- 
ing it, and sometimes we have put victuals for it, so it has grown, 
in a manner, tame like." 

Mr. Hill and Mr. Marshal looked at one another during this 
speech ; and the dread of ridicule again seized on Mr. Hill, 



when he apprehended that, after all he had said, the mountain 
might, at last, bring forth — a rat. Mr. Marshal, who instantly 
saw what passed in the verger's mind, relieved him from this 
fear, by refraining even from a smile on this occasion. He 
only said to the child, in a grave manner, " I am afraid, my 
dear, we shall be obliged to spoil your diversion. Mr. Verger, 
here, cannot suffer rat-holes in the cathedral : but, to make you 
amends for the loss of your favourite, I will give you a very 
pretty little dog, if you have a mind." 

The child was well pleased with this promise ; and, at Mi- 
Marshal's desire, she then went along with him and Mr. Hill to 
the cathedral, and they placed themselves at a little distance 
from that hole which had created so much disturbance. The 
child soon brought the dreadful enemy to light; and Mr. Hill, 
with a faint laugh, said, "I'm glad it's no worse : but there 
were many in our club who were of my opinion ; and, if they 
had not suspected O'Neill too, I am sure I should never have 
given you so much trouble, sir, as I have done this morning. 
But, I hope, as the club know nothing about that vagabond, 
that king of the gipsies, you will not let any one know any thing 
about the prophecy, and all that? I am sure, I am very sorry to 
have given you so much trouble, Mr. Marshal." 

Mr. Marshal assured him that he did not regret the time which 
he had spent in endeavouring to clear up all these mysteries and 
suspicions ; and Mr. Hill gladly accepted his invitation to meet 
O'Neill at his house the next day. No sooner had Mr. Marshal 
brought one of the parties to reason and good-humour, than he 
went to prepare the other for a reconciliation. O'Neill and his 
mother were both people of warm but forgiving tempers : the 
arrest was fresh in their minds; but when Mr. Marshal repre- 
sented to them the whole affair, and the verger's prejudices, in a 
humorous light, they joined in the good-natured laugh, and 
O'Neill declared that, for his part, he was ready to forgive and 
to forget every thing, if he could but see Miss Phcebe in the 
Limerick gloves. 

Phcebe appeared the next day, at Mr. Marshal's, in the 
Limerick gloves ; and no perfume ever was so delightful to her 
lover as the smell of the rose leaves, in which they had been 



Mr. Marshal had the benevolent pleasure of reconciling the 
two families. The tanner and the glover of Hereford became, 
from bitter enemies, useful friends to each other ; and they 
were convinced, by experience, that nothing could be more for 
their mutual advantage than to live in union. 

Nov. 1799. 



Leonard Ludgate was the only son and heir of a London 
haberdasher, who had made some money by constant attend- 
ance to his shop. " Out of debt out of danger," was the father's 
old-fashioned saying. The son's more liberal maxim was, 
ii Spend to-day, and spare to-morrow." Whilst he was under 
his father's eye, it was not in his power to live up to his prin- 
ciples ; and he longed for the time when he should be relieved 
from his post behind the counter : a situation which he deemed 
highly unworthy a youth of his parts and spirit. To imprison 
his elegant person behind a counter in Cranbourne-alley was, to 
be sure, in a cruel father's power ; but his tyranny could not 
extend to his mind ; and, whilst he was weighing minikin pins, 
or measuring out penny ribbon, his soul, leaving all these 
meaner things, was expatiating in Bond-street or Hyde-park. 
Whilst his fingers mechanically adjusted the scales, or carelessly 
slipped the yard, his imagination was galloping a fine bay with 
Tom Lewis, or driving Miss Belle Perkins in a gig. 

Now Tom Lewis was a dashing young citizen, whom old Lud- 
gate could not endure; and Miss Belle Perkins a would-be fine 
lady, whom he advised his son never to think of for a wife. But 
the happy moment at length arrived, when our hero could safely 
show how much he despised both the advice and the character 
of his father ; when he could quit his nook behind the counter, 
throw aside the yard, assume the whip, and affect the fine 
gentleman. In short, the happy moment came when his father 

Leonard now shone forth in all the glory which the united 
powers of tailor, hatter, and hosier, could spread around his 
person. Miss Belle Perkins, who had hitherto looked down 

Popular Talcs. K 



upon our hero as a reptile of Cranbourne-alley, beheld his meta- 
morphosis with surprise and admiration. And she, who had 
formerly been heard to say, " she would not touch him with a 
pair of tongs," now unreluctantly gave him her envied hand at 
a ball at Bagnigge Wells. Report farther adds that, at tea, 
Miss Belle whispered loud enough to be heard, that since his 
queer father's death, Leonard Ludgate had turned out quite a 
genteeler sort of person than could have been expected. 

" Upon this hint he spake." His fair one, after assuming all 
proper and becoming airs upon the occasion, suffered herself to 
be prevailed upon to call, with her mother and a friend, at Mr. 
Ludgate's house in Cranbourne-alley, to see whether it could be 
possibly inhabited by a lady of her taste and consequence. 

As Leonard handed her out of her hackney-coach, she ex- 
claimed, " Bless us, and be we to go up this paved lane, and 
through the shop, before we can get to the more creditabler 
apartments ?" 

" I'm going to cut a passage off the shop, which I've long had 
in contemplation," replied our hero ; " only I can't get light into 
it cleverly." 

" Oh ! a lamp in the style of a chandaleer will do vastly well 
by night, which is the time one wants one's house to put the best 
foot foremost, for company ; and by day we can make a shift, 
somehow or other, I dare say. Any thing's better than trapesing 
through a shop ; which is a thing I've never been used to, and 
cannot reconcile myself to by any means." 

Leonard immediately acceded to this scheme of the dark 
passage by day, and the cliandaleer by night; and he hurried his 
fair one through the odious shop to the 'more creditabler apart- 
ments. She was handed above, about, and underneath. She 
found every particle of the house wanted modernizing immensely, 
and was altogether smaller than she could ever have conceived 
beforehand. Our hero, ambitious at once to show his gallantry, 
spirit, and taste, incessantly protested he would adopt every im- 
provement Miss Belle Perkins could suggest ; and he declared 
that the identical same ideas had occurred to him a hundred and 
a hundred times, during his poor father's lifetime : but he could 
never make the old gentleman enter into any thing of the sort, 
his notions of life being utterly limited, to say no worse. " He 



had one old saw, for ever grating in my ears, as an answer to 
everything that bore the stamp of gentility, or carried with it an 
air of spirit : hey, Allen ! " continued our hero, looking over his 
shoulder at a young man who was casting up accounts ; " hey, 
Allen — you remember the old saw ? " 

"Yes, sir," replied the young man, "if you mean, 'Out of 
debt out of danger : ' I hope I shall never forget it." 

" I hope so too ; as you have your fortune to make, it is very 
proper for you : but for one that has a fortune ready made to 
spend, I am free to confess I think my principle worth a million 
of it : and my maxim is, ' Spend to-day, and spare to-morrow : * 
hey, ladies?" concluded Leonard, appealing with an air secure 
of approbation to his fair mistress and her young companion. 

" Why that suits my notions, I must own candidly," said 
Belle ; " but here's one beside me, or behind me — Where are 
you, Lucy?" pursued the young lady, addressing herself to her 
humble companion: "here's one, who is more of your shop- 
man's way of thinking than yours, I fancy. ' Out of debt 
out of danger' is just a sober saying to your mind, an't it, 

Lucy did not deny the charge. " Well, child," said Miss 
Perkins, " it's very proper, for you have no fortune of your own 
to spend." 

" It is, indeed," said Lucy, with modest firmness; "for as I 
have none of my own, if it were my maxim to spend to-day and 
spare to-morrow, I should be obliged to spend other people's 
money, which I never will do as long as I can maintain myself 

"How proud we are!" cried Miss Perkins, sarcastically. 
Leonard assented to the sarcasm by his looks ; but Allen declared 
he liked proper pride, and seemed to think that Lucy's was of 
this species. 

An argument might have ensued, if a collation, as Mr. Lud- 
gate called it, had not appeared at this critical moment. Of 
what it consisted, and how genteelly and gallantly our hero did 
the honours of his collation, we forbear to relate ; but one mate- 
rial circumstance we must not omit, as on this, perhaps more 
than even on his gentility and gallantry, depended the fortune 
of the day. In rummaging over a desk to find a corkscrew, 

k 2 



young Ludgate took occasion to open and shake a pocket-book,, 
from which fell a shower of bank notes. What effect they 
produced upon his fair one, and on her mother, can be best 
judged of by the event. Miss Belle Perkins, after this domi- 
ciliary visit, consented to go with our hero on Sunday to Ken- 
sington Gardens, Monday to Sadler's Wells, Tuesday on the 
water, Wednesday to the play, Thursday the Lord knows to 
what ball, Friday to Vauxhall, and on Saturday to — the altar ! 

Some people thought the young lady and gentleman rather 
precipitate; but these were pei'sons who, as the bride justly 
observed, did not understand any thing in nature of a love match. 
Those who have more liberal notions, and a more extensive 
knowledge of the human heart, can readily comprehend how a 
lady may think a man so odious at one minute, that she could 
not touch him with a pair of tongs, and so charming the next, 
that she would die a thousand deaths for him, and him alone. 
Immediately after the ceremony was performed, Mr. and Mrs. 
Ludgate went down in the hoy to Margate, to spend their honey- 
moon in style. Their honeymoon, alas ! could not be prolonged 
beyond the usual bounds. Even the joys of Margate could not be 
eternal, and the day came too soon when our happy pair were 
obliged to think of returning home. Home ! With what different 
sensations different people pronounce and hear that word pro- 
nounced! Mrs. Leonard Ludgate's home in Cranbourne-alley 
appeared to her, as she scrupled not to declare, an intolerable 
low place, after Margate. The stipulated alterations, her husband 
observed, had been made in the house, but none of them had 
been executed to her satisfaction. The expedient of the dark 
passage was not found to succeed : a thorough wind, from the 
front and back doors, ran along it when either or both were left 
open to admit light ; and this wicked wind, not content with 
running along the passage, forced its way up and down stairs, 
made the kitchen chimney smoke, and rendered even the more 
creditabler apartments scarcely habitable. Chimney doctors were 
in vain consulted : the favourite dark passage was at length 
abandoned, and the lady, to her utter discomfiture, was obliged 
to pass through the shop. 

To make herself amends for this mortification, she insisted 
upon throwing down the partition between the dining-room and 



her own bedchamber, that she might have one decent apart- 
ment at least fit for a rout. It was to no purpose that her friend 
Lucy, who was called in to assist in making up furniture, repre- 
sented that this scheme of throwing bedchamber and dining-room 
into one would be attended with some inconveniences ; for 
instance, that Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate would be obliged, in con- 
sequence of this improvement, to sleep in half of the maid's 
garret, or to sit up all night. This objection was overruled by 
Mrs. Ludgate, whose genius, fertile in expedients, made every 
thing easy, by the introduction of a bed in the dining-room, in 
the shape of a sofa, The newly-enlarged apartment, she ob- 
served, would thus answer the double purposes of show and 
utility ; and, as soon as the supper and card tables should be 
removed, the sofa-bed might be let down. She asserted that the 
first people in London manage in this way. Leonard could not 
contradict his lady, because she had a ready method of silencing 
him, by asking how he could possibly know any thing of life who 
had lived all his days, except Sundays, in Cranbourne-alley ? 
Then, if any one of his father's old notions of economy by chance 
twinged his conscience, Belle very judiciously asked how he ever 
came to think of her for a wife ? " Since you have got a 
genteel wife," said she, "it becomes you to live up to her notions, 
and to treat her as she and her friends have a right to expect. 
Before I married you, sir, none of the Perkins's were in trade 
themselves, either directly or indirectly ; and many's the slights 
and reproaches I've met with from my own relations and former 
acquaintances, since my marriage, on account of the Ludgates 
being all tradesfolks ; to which I always answer, that my 
Leonard is going to wash his hands of trade himself, and to 
make over all concern in the haberdashery line and shop to the 
young man below stairs, who is much better suited to such 

By such speeches as these, alternately piquing and soothing 
the vanity of her Leonard, our accomplished wife worked him to 
her purposes. She had a rout once a week ; and her room was 
so crowded, that there was scarcely a possibility of breathing. 
Yet, notwithstanding all this, she one morning declared, with a 
burst of tears, she was the most miserable woman in the world. 
And why ? Because her friend, Mrs. Pimlico. Miss Coxeater that 



was, had a house in Weymouth-street ; whilst she was forced to 
keep on being huried in Cranhourne-alley. Mr. Ludgate was 
moved by his wife's tears, and by his own ambition, and took a 
house in Weymouth-street. But before they had been there six 
weeks, the fair one was again found bathed in tears. And why ? 
" Because," said Belle, "because, Mr. Ludgate, the furniture of 
this house is as old as Methusalem's ; and my friend, Mrs. 
Pimlico, said yesterday that it was a shame to be seen : and so 
to be sure it is, compared with her own, which is spick and span 
new. Yet why should she pretend to look down upon me in 
point of furniture, or any thing ? Who was she, before she was 
married? Little Kitty Coxeater, as we always called her at the 
dancing school; and nobody ever thought of comparing her, in 
point of gentility, with Belle Perkins ! Why, she is as ugly as 
sin! though she is my friend, I must acknowledge that; and, if 
she had all the clothes in the world, she would never know how 
to put any of them on ; that's one comfort. And, as every body 
says, to be sure she never would have got a husband but for her 
money. And, after all, what sort of a husband has she got? 
A perfumer, indeed ! a man with a face like one of his own 
wash-balls, all manner of colours. I declare, I would rather 
have gone without to the end of my days than have married 
Mr. Pimlico." 

"I cannot blame you there, my dear," said Mr. Ludgate; 
" for to be sure Mr. Pimlico, much as he thinks of himself and 
his country house, has as little the air of — the air of fashion as 
can be well conceived." 

Leonard Ludgate made an emphatic pause in this speech; and 
surveyed himself in a looking-glass with much complacency, 
whilst he pronounced the word fashion. He, indeed, approved 
so much of his wife's taste and discernment, in preferring him to 
Mr. Pimlico, that he could not at this moment help inclining to 
follow her judgment respecting the furniture. He acceded to 
her position, that the Ludgates ought to appear at least no 
shabbier than the Pimlicos. The conclusion was inevitable : 
Leonard, according to his favourite maxim of " Spend to-day, 
and spare to-morrow," agreed that they might new furnish the 
house this year, and pay for it the next. This was immediately 
done; and the same principle was extended through all their 



household affairs, as far as the tradesmen concerned would 
admit of its being carried into practice. 

By this means, Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate were not for some time 
sensible of the difficulties they were preparing for themselves. 
They went on vying with the Pimlicos, and with all their new 
acquaintance, who were many of them much richer than them- 
selves ; and of this vain competition there was no end. Those 
who estimate happiness not by the real comforts or luxuries 
which they enjoy, but by comparison between themselves and 
their neighbours, must be subject to continual mortification and 
discontent. Far from being happier than they were formerly, 
Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate were much more miserable after their 
removal to Weymouth-street. Was it not better to be the first 
person in Cranbourne-alley than the last in Weymouth-street ? 
New wants and wishes continually arose in their new situation. 
They must live like other people. Everybody, that is, every- 
body in Weymouth-street, did so and so ; and, therefore, they 
must do the same. They must go to such a place, or they must 
have such a thing, not because it was in itself necessary or 
desirable, but because everybody, that is, everybody of their 
acquaintance, did or had the same. Even to be upon a footing 
with their new neighbours was a matter of some difficulty ; and 
then merely to be upon an equality, merely to be admitted and 
suffered at parties, is awkward and humiliating. Noble ambition 
prompted them continually to aim at distinction. The desire to 
attain il poco phi — the little more, stimulates to excellence, or 
betrays to ruin, according to the objects of our ambition. No 
artist ever took more pains to surpass Raphael or Correggio than 
was taken by Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate to outshine Mr. and Mrs. 
Pimlico. And still what they had done seemed nothing : what 
they were to do occupied all their thoughts. No timid economical 
fears could stop or even startle them in the road to ruin. Faith- 
ful to his maxim, our hero denied himself nothing. If, for a 
moment, the idea that any thing was too expensive suggested 
itself, his wife banished care by observing, " We need not pay 
for it now. What signifies it, since we need not think of paying 
for it till next year?" She had abundance of arguments of 
similar solidity, adapted to all occasions. Sometimes the thing 
in question was such a trifle it could not ruin anybody. " 'Tis 



but a guinea! 'Tis but a few shillings!" Sometimes it was 
a sort of thing that could not ruin anybody, because " 'Tis but 
for once and away !" 'Tis but is a most dangerous thing ! How 
many guineas may be spent upon 'tis but, in the course of one 
year, in such a city as London ! 

Bargains! excellent bargains! were also with our heroine 
admirable pleas for expense. " We positively must buy this, 
my dear ; for it would be a sin to let such a bargain slip through 
one's fingers. Mrs. Pimlico paid twice as much for what is not 
half as good. 'Twould be quite a shame to one's good sense to 
miss such a bargain !" Mrs. Ludgate was one of those ladies 
avIio think it is more reasonable to buy a thing because it is a 
bargain than because they want it: she farther argued, " If we 
don't want it, we may want it:" and this was a satisfactory 

Under the head bargains we must not forget cheap days. 
Messrs. Run and Raffle advertised a sale of old shop goods, with 
the catching words — cheap days ! Everybody crowded to throw 
away their money on cheap days; and, amongst the rest, Mrs. 

One circumstance was rather disagreeable in these cheap 
days : ready money was required ; and this did not suit those 
who lived by the favourite maxim of the family. Yet there was 
a reason that counterbalanced their objection in Mrs. Ludgate's 
mind : " Mrs. Pimlico was going to Messrs. Run and Raffle's • 
and what would she think, if I wasn't to be there ? She'd think, 
to be sure, that we were as poor as Job." So, to demonstrate 
that she had ready money to throw away, Mrs. Ludgate must go 
on the cheap days. 

" Belle," said her husband, "ready money's a serious thing." 

" Yes, Leonard, but, when nothing else will be taken, you 
know, one can't do without it." 

" But, if one has not it, I tell you, one must do without it," 
said Leonard peevishly. 

" Lord, Mr. Ludgate, if you have not it about you, can't you 
send to Cranbourne-alley, to Mr. Allen, for some for me? 'Tis 
but a few guineas I want; and 'twould be a shame to miss such 
bargains as are to be had for nothing, at Run and Raffle's. And 
these cheap days are extraordinary things. It can't ruin any 



Dody to spend a guinea or two, once and away, like other 

At the conclusion of her eloquent speech, Mrs. Ludgate rang 
the hell ; and, without waiting for any assent from her husband 
but silence, bade the footman run to the shop, and desire Allen 
to send her ten guineas immediately. 

Mr. Ludgate looked sullen, whistled, and then posted himself 
at the parlour window to watch for the ambassador's return. 
"I wonder," continued Mrs. Ludgate, "I wonder, Leonard, 
that you let Allen leave you so bare of cash of late ! It is very 
disagreeable to be always sending out of the house, this way, for 
odd guineas. Allen, I think, uses you very ill ; but I am sure I 
woulv not let him cheat me, if I was you. Pray, when you 
gave up the business of the shop to him, was not you to have 
half the profits for your good-will, and name, and all that?" 

" Yes." 

" And little enough ! But why don't you look after Allen, 
then, and make him pay us what he owes us?" 
" I'll see about it to-morrow, child." 

"About how much do you think is owing to us?" pursued 
Mrs. Ludgate. 

" I can't tell, ma'am." 

" I wish then you'd settle accounts to-morrow, that I might 
have some ready money." 

The lady seemed to take it for granted that her having ready 
money would be the necessary and immediate consequence of 
settling accounts with Allen ; her husband could have set her 
right in this particular, and could have informed her that not a 
farthing was due to him ; that, on the contrary, he had taken up 
money in advance, on the next half year's expected profits ; but 
Mr. Ludgate was ashamed to let his wife know the real state of 
his affairs : indeed, he was afraid to look them in the face him- 
self. " Here's the boy coming back!" cried he, after watching 
for some time in silence at the window. 

Leonard went to the street-door to meet him ; and Belle fol. 
lowed close, crying, " Well ! I hope Allen has sent me the 

M I don't know," said the breathless boy. " I have a letter 



for my master, here, that was written ready, by good luck, afore 
I got there." 

Leonard snatched the letter ; and his wife waited to see 
whether the money was enclosed. 

" The rascal has sent me no money, I see, but a letter, and 
an account as long as my arm." 

" No money!" cried Belle; " that's using us very oddly and 
ill, indeed ; and I wonder you submit to such conduct ! I de- 
clare I won't bear it ! Go back, I say, Jack ; go, run this 
minute, and tell Allen he must come up himself ; for 7, Mrs. 
Ludgate, wants to speak with him." 

" No, my dear, no ; nonsense ! don't go, Jack. What signifies 
your sending to speak with Allen 1 What can you do 1 How 
can you settle accounts with him ? What should women know 
of business ? I wish women would never meddle with things 
they don't understand." 

" Women oan understand well enough when they want 
money," cried the sharp lady; " and the short and the long of 
it is, Mr. Ludgate, that I will see and settle accounts with 
Allen myself; and bring him to reason, if you won't ; and this 
minute, too." 

"Bless me! upon my faith, Allen's better than we thought: 
here's bank-notes within the account," said Mr. Ludgate. 

" Ay, I thought he could not be so very impertinent as to 
refuse when / sent to him myself. But this is only one five 
pound note : I sent for ten. Where is the other?" 

" I want the other myself," said her husband. 

The tone was so peremptory, that she dared not tempt him 
further ; and away she went to Messrs. Run and Raffle's, where 
she had the pleasure of buying a bargain of things that were of no 
manner of use to her, and for which she paid twice as much as 
they were worth. These cheap days proved dear days to many. 
• Whilst Mrs. Ludgate spent the morning at Messrs. Run and 
Raffle's, her husband was with Tom Lewis, lounging up and 
down Bond-street. Tom Lewis being just one step above him 
in gentility, was invited to parties where Ludgate could not gain 
admittance, was bowed to by people who never bowed to 
Leonard Ludgate, could tell to whom this livery or that car- 



riage belonged, knew who everybody was, and could point out 
my lord this, and my lady that, in the park or at the play. All 
these things made him a personage of prodigious consequence 
in the eyes of our hero, who looked upon him as the mirror of 
fashion. Tom knew how to take advantage of this admiration, 
and borrowed many a guinea from him in their morning walks : 
in return, he introduced Mr. Ludgate to some of his friends, and 
to his club. 

New occasions, or rather new necessities, for expense occurred 
every day, in consequence of his connexion with Lewis. Whilst 
he aimed at being thought a young man of spirit, he could not 
avoid doing as other people did. He could not think of eco- 
nomy ! That would be shabby ! On his fortune rested his 
claims to respect from his present associates ; and, therefore, it 
was his constant aim to raise their opinion of his riches. For 
some time, extravagance was not immediately checked by the 
want of money, because he put otf the evil day of payment. At 
last, when bills poured in upon him, and the frequent calls of 
tradesmen began to be troublesome, he got rid of the present 
difficulty by referring them to Allen. " Go to Allen ; he must 
settle with you : he does all my business." 

Allen sent him account after account, stating the sums he 
paid by his order. Ludgate thrust the unread accounts into his 
escritoire, and thought no more of the matter. Allen called 
upon him, to beg he would come to some settlement, as he was 
getting more and more, every day, into his debt. Leonard 
desired to have an account, stated in full, and promised to look 
over it on Monday : but Monday came, and then it was put off 
till Tuesday ; and so on, day after day. 

The more reason he had to know that his affairs were de- 
ranged, the more carefully he concealed all knowledge of them 
from his wife. Her ignorance of the truth not only led her 
daily into fresh extravagance, but was, at last, the cause of 
bringing things to a premature explanation. After spending the 
morning at Messrs. Run and Raffle's, she returned home with a 
hackney-coach full of bargains. As she came into the parlour, 
loaded with things that she did not want, she was surprised by 
the sight of an old friend, whom she had lately treated entirely 
as a stranger. It was Lucy, who had in former days been b?r 



favourite companion. But Lucy had chosen to work, to sup- 
■port herself independently, rather than to be a burden to her 
friends ; and Mrs. Ludgate could not take notice of a person 
who had degraded herself so far as to become a workwoman at 
an upholsterer's. She had consequently never seen Lucy since 
this event took place, except when she went to Mr. Beech the 
upholsterer's, to order her new furniture. She then was in 
company with Mrs. Pimlico : and, when she saw Lucy at work 
in a back parlour with two or three other young women, she 
pretended not to know her. Lucy could scarcely believe that 
this was done on purpose ; and, at all events, she was not mor- 
tified by the insult. She was now come to speak to Mrs. Lud- 
gate about the upholsterer's bill. 

" Ha! Lucy, is it you?" said Mrs. Ludgate, as soon as she 
entered. " I've never seen you in Wey mouth-street before ! 
How comes it you never called, if it was only to see our new 
house? I'm sure I should always be very happy to have you 
here — when we've nobody with us ; and I'm quite sorry as I 
can't ask you to stay and take a bit of mutton with us to-day, 
because I'm engaged to dine in Bond-street, with Mrs. Pimlico 's 
cousin, pretty Mrs. Paget, the bride whom you've heard talk of, 
no doubt. So you'll excuse me if I run away from you, to make 
myself a little decent ; for it's horrid late !" 

After running off this speech, with an air and a volubility 
worthy of her betters, she set before Lucy some of her bargains, 
and was then retreating to make herself decent; but Lucy 
stopped her, by saying, " My dear Mrs. Ludgate, I am sorry to 
detain you, but Mr. Beech, the upholsterer, knowing I have 
been acquainted with you, has sent me to speak to you about 
his bill. He is in immediate want of money, because he is 
fitting out one of his sons for the East Indies." 

" Well ! but his son's nothing to me ! I sha'n't think of 
paying the bill yet, I can assure him ; and you may take it 
back, and tell him so." 

"But," said Lucy, "if I take back such an answer, lam 
afraid Mr. Beech will send the bill to Mr. Ludgate ; and that 
was what you particularly desired should not be done." 

" Why, no ; that's what I can't say I should particularly 
wish, just at present," said Mrs. Ludgate, lowering her tone* 



*' because, to tell you a bit of a secret, Lucy, I've run up rather 
an unconsciable bill, this year, with my milliner and mantua- 
maker; and I would not have all them bills come upon him all 
in a lump, and on a sudden, as it were ; especially as I laid out 
more on the furniture than he counts. So, my dear Lucy, I'll 
tell you what you must do : you must use your influence with 
Beech to make him wait a little longer. I'm sure he may wait 
well enough ; and he shall be paid next month." 

Lucy declared that her influence, on the present occasion, 
would be of no avail ; but she had the good-nature to add, " If 
you are sure the bill can be paid next month, I will leave my two 
years' salary in Mr. Beech's hands till then; and this will perhaps 
satisfy him, if he can get bills from other people paid, to 
make up the money for his son. He said thirty guineas 
from you on account would do, for the present ; and that sum is 
due to me." 

" Then, my dearest Lucy, for Heaven's sake, do leave it in his 
hands ! You were a good creature to think of it ; but you always 
were a good creature." 

" Your mother used to be kind to me, when I was a child ; 
and I am sure I ought not to forget it," said Lucy, the tears 
starting into her eyes : " and you were once kind tome; I do 
not forget that," continued Lucy, wiping the tears from her 
cheeks. — " But do not let me detain you ; you are in a hurry to 
dress to go to Mrs. Pimlico's." 

"No — pray — I am not in a hurry now," said Mrs. Ludgate, 
who had the grace to blush at this instant. " But, if you must 
go, do take this hat along with you. I assure you it's quite the 
rage : I got it this morning at Run and Raffle's, and Mrs. Pim- 
lico and Mrs. Paget have got the same." 

Lucy declined accepting the hat, notwithstanding this strong 
and, as Mrs. Ludgate would have thought it, irresistible recom- 
mendation. "Now you must have it: it will become you a 
thousand times better than that you have on," cried Mrs. Lud- 
gate, insisting the more the more Lucy withdrew; "and, besides, 
you must wear it for my sake. You won't ? Then I take it very 
ill of you that you are so positive ; for I assure you, whatever 
you may think, I wish to be as kind to you now as ever. Only, 



you know, one can't always, when one lives in another style, bo 
at home as often as one wishes." 

Lucy relieved her ci-devant friend from the necessity of making 
any more awkward apologies, by moving quickly towards the 
door. "Then you won't forget," continued Mrs. Ludgate, 
following her into the passage, "you won't forget the job you are 
to do for me with Beech ? " 

" Certainly I shall not. I will do what I have promised : but 
I hope you will be punctual about the payment next month," 
said Lucy, " because I believe I shall be in want of my money at 
that time. It is best to tell you exactly the truth." 

" Certainly ! certainly ! you shall have your money before you 
want it, long and long ; and my only reason for borrowing it 
from you at all is, that I don't Tike to trouble Mr. Ludgate, till 
he has settled, accounts with Allen, who keeps all our money 
from us in a strange way ; and, in my opinion, uses Leonard 
exceedingly ill and unfairly." 

"Allen!" cried Lucy, stopping short. "Oh, Belle! how 
can you say so ? How can you think so ? But you know 
nothing of him, else you could not suspect him of using any 
one ill, or unfairly; much less your husband, the son of his old 

" Bless me ! how she runs on ! and how she colours ! I am 
sure I didn't know I was upon such tender ground! I did not 
know Allen was such a prodigious favourite ! " 

"I only do him justice in saying that I am certain he could 
not do an unfair or unhandsome action." 

" I know nothing of the matter, I protest ; only this — that 
short accounts, they say, make long friends ; and I hope I sha'n't 
affront any body by saying, it would be very convenient if he 
could be got to settle with Mr. Ludgate, who, I am sure, is too 
much the gentleman to ask any thing from him but his own ; 
which, indeed, if it was not for me, he'd be too genteel to men- 
tion. But, as I said before, short accounts make long friends; and, 
as you are so much Allen's friend, you can hint that to him." 

" I shall not hint, but say it to him as plainly as possible," 
replied Lucy; "and you may be certain that he will come to 
settle accounts with Mr. Ludgate before night." 



" I am sure I shall be mighty glad of it ; and so will Mr. 
Ludgate," said Belle ; and thus they parted. 

Mrs. Ludgate with triumph announced to her husband, upon 
his return home, that she had brought affairs to a crisis with 
Allen ; and that he would come to settle his accounts this 
evening. The surprise and consternation which appeared in Mr. 
Ludgate 's countenance, convinced the lady that her interference 
was highly disagreeable. 


Allen came punctually in the evening to settle his accounts. 
"When he and Leonard were by themselves, he could not help 
expressing some astonishment, mixed with indignation, at the 
hints which had been thrown out by Mrs. Ludgate. 

"Why, she knows nothing of the matter," said Ludgate. "I've 
no notion of talking of such things to one's wife ; it would only 
make her uneasy ; and we shall be able to go on some way or 
other. So let us have another bottle of wine, and talk no more 
of business for this night." 

Allen would by no means consent to put off the settlement of 
accounts, after what had passed. " Short accounts," said he, " as 
Mrs. Ludgate observed, make long friends." 

It appeared, when the statement of affairs was completed, that 
Allen had advanced above three hundred pounds for Leonard ; 
and bills to a large amount still remained unpaid. 

Now it happened that Jack, the footboy, contrived to go in and 
out of the room several times, whilst Mr. Ludgate and Allen were 
talking ; and he, finding it more for his interest to serve his 
master's tradesmen than his master, sent immediate notice to all 
whom it might concern, that Mr. Ludgate 's affairs were in a 
bad way, and that now or never must be the word with his 
creditors. The next morning bills came showering in upon 
Leonard whilst he was at breakfast, and amongst them came 
sundry bills of Mrs. Ludgate 's. They could not possibly have 
come at a more inauspicious moment. People bespeak goods 
with one species of enthusiasm, and look over their bills with 



another. We should rather have said people spend with one 
enthusiasm, and pay with another ; but this observation would 
not apply to our present purpose, for Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate had 
never yet experienced the pleasure or the pain of paying their 
debts ; they had hitherto been faithful to their maxim of "Spend 
to-day, and pay to-morrow." 

They agreed well in the beginning of their career of ex- 
travagance ; but the very similarity of their tastes and habits 
proved ultimately the cause of the most violent quarrels. As 
they both were expensive, selfish, and self-willed, neither would, 
from regard to the other, forbear. Comparisons between their 
different degrees of extravagance commenced; and, once begun, 
they never ended. It was impossible to settle, to the satisfaction 
of either party, which of them was most to blame. Recrimi- 
nation and reproaches were hourly and daily repeated ; and the 
lady usually ended by bursting into tears, and the gentleman by 
taking his hat and walking out of the house. 

In the meantime, the bills must be paid. Mr. Ludgate was 
obliged to sell the whole of his interest in the shop in Cran- 
bourne-alley ; and the ready money he received from Allen was 
to clear him from all difficulties. Allen came to pay him this 
sum. "Do not think me impertinent, Mr. Ludgate," said he, 
" but I cannot for the soul of me help fearing for you. "What 
will you do, when this money is gone ? and go it must, at the 
rate you live, in a very short time." 

" You are very good, sir," replied Leonard, coldly, " to interest 
yourself so much in my concerns ; but I shall live at what rate 
I please. Every man is the best judge of his own affairs." 

After this repulse Allen could interfere no further. But when 
two months had elapsed from the date of Mrs. Ludgate 's promised 
payment of the upholsterer's bill, Lucy resolved to call again 
upon Mrs. Ludgate. Lucy had now a particular occasion for the 
money : she was going to be married to Allen, and she wished 
to put into her husband's hands the little fortune which she had 
so hardly earned by her own industry. From the time that 
Allen heard her conversation, when Belle came to view the house 
in Cranbourne-alley, be had been of opinion that she would 
make an excellent wife : and the circumstances which sunk 
Lucy below Mrs. Ludgate's notice raised her in the esteem ard 



affection of this prudent and sensible young man. He did not 
despise — he admired her for going into a creditable business, to 
make herself independent, instead of living as an humble com- 
panion with Mrs. Ludgate, of whose conduct and character she 
could not approve. 

When Lucy called again upon Mrs. Ludgate to remind her of 
her promise, she was received with evident confusion. She was 
employed in directing Mr. Green, a builder, to throw out a bow 
in her dining-room, and to add a balcony to the windows ; for 
Mrs. Pimlico had a bow and a balcony, and how could Mrs. 
Ludgate live without them ? 

" Surely, my dear Mrs. Ludgate," said Lucy, drawing her 
aside, so that the man who was measuring the windows could 
not hear what she said, " surely you will think of paying Mr. 
Beech's bill, as you promised, before you go into any new 
expense ?" 

" Hush ! hush ! don't speak so loud. Leonard is in the next 
room ; and I would not have him hear any thing of Beech's 
bill, just when the man's here about the balcony, for any thing 
in the world!" 

Lucy, though she was good-natured, was not so weak as to 
yield to airs and capricious extravagance ; and Mrs. Ludgate at 
last, though with a bad grace, paid her the money which she 
had intended to lay out in a very different manner. But no 
sooner had she paid this debt than she considered how she could 
prevail upon Mr. Green to throw out the bow, and finish the 
balcony, without paying him for certain alterations he had made 
in the house in Cranbourne-alley, for which he had never yet 
received one farthing. It was rather a difficult business, for Mr. 
Green was a sturdy man, and used to regular payments. He 
resisted all persuasion, and Mrs. Ludgate was forced again to 
have recourse to Lucy. 

" Do, my dear girl," said she, "lend me only twenty guineas 
for this positive man ; else, you see, I cannot have my balcony." 
This did not appear to Lucy the greatest of all misfortunes. 
" But is it not much more disagreeable to be always in debt and 
danger, than to live in a room without a balcony?" said 

" Vv'liy it is disagreeable, certainly, to be in debt, because of 
Popular Tales. l 



being dunned continually ; but tbe reason I'm so anxious about 
the balcony, is that Mrs. Pimlico has one, and that's the only 
thing in which her house is better than mine. Look just over 
the way : do you see Mrs. Pimlico's beautiful balcony?" 

Mrs. Ludgate who had thrust her head far out of the window, 
pulling Lucy along with her, now suddenly drew back, exclaim- 
ing, " Lord, if here is not that odious woman ; I hope Jack 
won't let her in." — She shut the window hastily, ran to the top 
of the stairs, and called out, "Jack! I say, Jack; don't let 
nurse in for your life." 

" Not if she has the child with her, ma'am ?" said Jack. 

" No, no, I say !" 

"Then that's a sin and a shame," muttered Jack, "to shut 
the door upon your own child." 

Mrs. Ludgate did not hear this reflection, because she had 
gone back to the man who was waiting for directions about the 
balcony ; but Lucy heard it distinctly. " Ma'am, nurse would 
come in, for she says she saw you at the window ; and here she 
is, coming up the stairs," cried the footboy. 

The nurse came in, with Mrs. Ludgate's child in her arms. 

" Indeed, madam," said she, " the truth of the matter is, 
I can't and won't be denied my own any longer : and it is not 
for my own sake I speak up so bold, but for the dear babe that 
I have here in my arms, that can't speak for itself, but only 
smila in your face, and stretch out its arms to you. I, that am 
only its nurse, can't bear it ; but I have little ones of my own, 
and can't see them want. I can't do for them all: if I'm not 
paid my lawful due, how can I ? And is it not fit I should 
think of my own flesh and blood first? So I must give up tins 
one. I must ! — I must!" — cried the nurse, kissing the child 
repeatedly, " I must leave her to her mother." 

The poor woman laid the child down on the sofa, then turned 
her back upon it, and, hiding her face in her apron, sobbed as 
if her heart would break. Lucy was touched with compassion ; 
the mother stood abashed ; shame struggled for a few instants 
with pride; pi'ide got the victory. " The woman's out of her 
wits, I believe," cried Mrs. Ludgate. "Mr. Green, if you'll 
please to call again to-morrow, we'll talk about the balcony. 
Lucy, give me the child, and don't you fall a crying without 



knowing why or wherefore. Nurse, I'm surprised at you! 
Did not I tell you I'd send you your money next week?" 

" Oh ! yes, madam; hut you have said so this many a week; 
and things are come to such a pass now, that husband says I 
shall not bring back the child without the money." 

" What can I do?" said Mrs. Ludgate. 

Lucy immediately took her purse out of her pocket, and 
whispered, " I will lend you whatever you want to pay the 
nurse, upon condition that you will give up the scheme of the 

Mrs. Ludgate submitted to this condition ; but she was not 
half so much obliged to Lucy for doing her this real service as 
she would have been if her friend had assisted in gratifying her 
vanity and extravagance. Lucy saw what passed in Mrs. Lud- 
gate's mind, and nothing but the sense of the obligations she lay 
under to Belle's mother could have prevented her from breaking 
off all connexion with her. 

But Mrs. Ludgate was now much inclined to court Lucy's 
acquaintance, as her approaching marriage with Mr. Allen, who 
was in good circumstances, made her appear quite a different 
person. Mrs. Allen would be able, and she hoped willing, to 
assist her from time to time with money. With this view, Belle 
showed Lucy a degree of attention and civility which she had 
disdained to bestow upon her friend whilst she was in an inferior 
situation. It was in vain, however, that this would-be fine lady 
endeavoured to draw the prudent Lucy out of her own sphere of 
life : though Lucy was extremely pretty, she had no desire to 
be admired ; she was perfectly satisfied and happy at home, and 
she and her husband lived according to old Ludgate's excellent 
maxim, " Out of debt out of danger." 

We shall not weary our readers with the history of all the 
petty difficulties into which Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate's foolish 
extravagance led them. The life of the shabby genteel is most 
miserable. Servants' wages unpaid, duns continually besieging 
the door, perpetual excuses, falsehoods to be invented, melan- 
choly at home, and forced gaiety abroad ! Who would live eixh 
a life ? Yet all this Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate endured, for the sake 
of outshining Mr. and Mrs. Pimlico. 

It happened that one night, at a party, Mrs, Ludgate caught a 
l 2 



violent cold, and her face became inflamed and disfigured by 
red spots. Being to go to a ball in a few days, she was very- 
impatient to get rid of the eruption ; and in this exigency she 
applied to Mr. Pimlico, the perfumer, who had often supplied 
her with cosmetics, and who now recommended a beautifying 
lotion. This quickly cleared her complexion ; but she soon felt 
the effects of her imprudence : she was taken dangerously ill, 
and the physician who was consulted attributed her disease en- 
tirely to the preparation she had applied to her face. Whilst she 
was ill, an execution was brought against Mr. Ludgate's goods. 
Threatened with a jail, and incapable of taking any vigorous 
measures to avoid distress, he went to consult his friend, Tom 
Lewis. How this Mr. Lewis lived was matter of astonishment 
to all his acquaintance : he had neither estate, business, or any 
obvious means of supporting the expense in which he in- 

"What a happy dog you are, Lewis !" said our hero : "how 
is it that you live better than I do?" 

"You might live as well as I, if you were inclined," said 

Our hero was all curiosity ; and Lewis exacted from him an 
oath of secrecy. A long pause ensued. 

"Have you the courage," said Lewis, "to extricate yourself 
from all your difficulties at once?" 

" To be sure I have ; since I must either go to jail this night, 
or raise two hundred guineas for these cursed fellows!" 

"You shall have it in half an hour," said Lewis, "if you 
will follow my advice." 

" Tell me at once what I am to do, and I will do it," cried 
Leonard. " I will do any thing to save myself from disgrace, 
and from a jail." 

Lewis, who now perceived his friend was worked up to the 
pitch he wanted, revealed the whole mystery. He was con- 
nected with a set of gentlemen, ingenious in the arts of forgery, 
from whom he purchased counterfeit bank-notes at a very cheap 
rate. The difficulty and risk of passing them was extreme ; 
therefore the confederates were anxious to throw this part of the 
business off their hands. Struck with horror at the idea of 
becoming an accomplice in such a scheme of villany, Leonard 



stood pale and silent, incapable of even thinking distinctly. 
Lewis was sorry that he had opened his mind so fully. " Re- 
member your oath of secrecy !" said he. 
"I do," replied Ludgate. 

" And remember that you must become one of us before 
night, or go to jail." 

Ludgate said he would take an hour to consider of the busi- 
ness, and here they parted ; Lewis promising to call at his 
house before evening, to learn his final decision. 

"And am I come to this?" thought the wretched man. 
' Would to Heaven I had followed my poor father's maxim ! but 
't is now too late." 

Mr. Ludgate, when he arrived at home, shut himself up in his 
own room, and continued walking backwards and forwards, for 
nearly an hour, in a state of mind more dreadful than can be 
described. Whilst he was in this situation, some one knocked at 
the door. He thought it was Lewis, and trembled from head to 
foot. It was only a servant with a parcel of bills, which several 
tradesmen, hearing that an execution was in the house, had 
hastened to present for payment. Among them were those of 
Mr. Beech, the upholsterer, and Mrs. Ludgate's milliner and 
mantua-maker, which having been let to run on for above two 
years and a half, now amounted to a sum that astonished and 
shocked Mr. Ludgate. He could not remonstrate with his wife, 
or even vent his anger in reproaches, for she was lying senseless 
in her bed. 

Before he had recovered from this shock, and whilst the 
tradesmen who brought the bills were still waiting for their 
money, Lewis and one of his companions arrived. He came to 
the point immediately. He produced bank-notes sufficient to 
discharge all his debts, and proposed to lend him this money on 
condition that he would enter into the confederacy as he had 
proposed. " All that we ask of you is to pass a certain number 
of notes for us every week. You will find this to your ad- 
vantage ; for we will allow you a considerable per centage, 
besides freeing you from your present embarrassments." 

The sight of the bank-notes, the pressure of immediate distress, 
and the hopes of being able to support the style of life in which 
he nad of late appeared, all conspired to tempt Ludgate. When 



he had, early in life, vaunted to his young companions that he 
despised his father's old maxim, while he repeated his own, they 
applauded his spirit. They were not present, at this instant, to 
pity the wretched state into which that spirit had betrayed him. 
But our hero has yet much greater misery to endure. It is true 
his debts were now paid, and he was able to support an external 
appearance of affluence ; but not one day, not one night, could 
he pass without suffering the horrors of a guilty conscience, and 
all the terrors which haunt the man who sees himself in hourly 
danger of detection. He determined to keep his secret cautiously 
from his wife : he was glad that she was confined to her bed at 
this time, lest her prying curiosity should discover what was 
going forward. The species of affection which he had once felt 
for her had not survived the first six months of their marriage ; 
and their late disputes had rendered this husband and wife 
absolutely odious to each other. Each believed, and indeed 
pretty plainly asserted, that they could live more handsomely 
asunder : but, alas ! they were united for better and for worse. 

Mrs. Ludgate's illness terminated in another eruption on her 
face. She was extremely mortified by the loss of her beauty, 
especially as Mrs. Pimlico frequently contrasted her face with 
that of Mrs. Paget, who was now acknowledged to be the hand- 
somest woman of Mrs. Pimlico 's acquaintance. She endeavoured 
to make herself of consequence by fresh expense. Mr. Ludgate, 
to account for the sudden payment of his debts, and the affluence 
in which he now appeared to live, spread a report of his having 
had a considerable legacy left to him by a relation, who had died 
in a distant part of England. The truth of the report was not 
questioned ; and for some time Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate were the 
envy of their acquaintance. , How little the world, as it is called, 
can judge, by external appearances, of the happiness of those 
who excite admiration or envy ! 

"What lucky people the Ludgates are !" cried Mrs. Pimlico. 
The exclamation was echoed by a crowded card party, assembled 
at her house. "But then," continued Mrs. Pimlico, "it is a 
pity poor Belle is so disfigured by that scurvy, or whatever it is, 
in her face. I remember the time when she was as pretty a 
woman as you could see : nay, would you believe it, she had 
once as fine a complexion as young Mrs. Paget!" 



These observations circulated quickly, and did not escape 
Mrs. Ludgate's ear. Her vanity was deeply wounded ; and her 
health appeared to her but a secondary consideration, in com- 
parison with the chance of recovering her lost complexion. Mr. 
Pimlico, who was an eloquent perfumer, persuaded her that her 
former illness had nothing to do with the beautifying lotion she 
had purchased at his shop ; and to support his assertions, he 
quoted examples of innumerable ladies, of high rank and 
fashion, who were in the constant habit of using this admirable pre- 
paration. The vain and foolish woman, notwithstanding the warn- 
ings which she had received from the physician who attended her 
during her illness, listened to the oratory of the perfumer, and 
bought half a dozen bottles of another kind of beautifying lotion. 
The eruption vanished from her face, after she had used the 
cosmetic ; and, as she did not feel any immediate bad effects 
upon her health, she persisted in the practice for some months. 
The consequence was at last dreadful. She was found one 
morning speechless in her bed, with one side of her face distorted 
and motionless. During the night, she had been seized with a 
paralytic stroke : in a few days she recovered her speech ; but 
her face continued totally disfigured. 

This was the severest punishment that could have been in- 
flicted on a woman of her character. She was now ashamed to 
show herself abroad, and incapable of being contented at home. 
She had not the friendship of a husband, or the affection of 
children, to afford her consolation and support. Her eldest 
child was a boy of about five years old, her youngest four. 
They were as fretful and troublesome as children usually are, 
whose education has been totally neglected ; and the quarrels 
between them and Jack the footboy were endless, for Jack was 
alternately their tutor and their playfellow. 

Beside the disorder created in this family by mischievous 
children, the servants were daily plagues. Nothing was ever 
done by them well or regularly ; and though the master and 
mistress scolded without mercy, and perpetually threatened to 
turn Jack or Sukey away, yet no reformation in their manners 
was produced ; for Jack and Sukey's wages were not paid, and 
they felt that they had the power in their own hands ; so 
that they were rather the tyrants than the servants of the house. 




Mrs. Ludgate's temper, which never was sweet, was soured to 
such a degree, by these accumulated evils, that she was insuffer- 
able. Her husband kept out of the way as much as possible : 
he dined and supped at his club, or at the tavern : and, during 1 
the evenings and mornings, he was visible at home but for a 
few minutes. Yet, though his time was passed entirely away 
from his wife, his children, and his home, he was not happy 
His life was a life of perpetual fraud and fear. He was bound 
by his engagements with Lewis to pass for the confederates a 
certain number of forged notes every day. This was a perilous: 
task ! His utmost exertions and ingenuity were continually 
necessary to escape detection ; and, after all, he was barely able 
to wrest from the hard hands of his friends a sufficient profit 
upon his labour to maintain himself. How often did he look 
back, with regret, to the days when he stood behind the counter, 
in his father's shop ! Then he had in Allen a real friend ; but 
now he had in Lewis only a profligate and unfeeling associate. 
Lewis cared for no one but himself ; and he was as avaricious as 
he was extravagant; "greedy of what belonged to others, pro- 
digal of his own." 

One night, Leonard went to the house where the confederates 
met, to settle with them for the last parcel of notes that he had 
passed. Lewis insisted upon being paid for his services before 
Ludgate should touch a farthing. Words ran high between 
them : Lewis, having the most influence with his associates, 
carried his point ; and Leonard, who was in want of ready 
money, could supply himself only by engaging to pass double 
the usual quantity of forged notes during the ensuing month. 
Upon this condition, he obtained the supply for which he soli- 
cited. Upon his return home, he locked up the forged notes as 
usual in his escritoir. It happened the very next morning that 
Mrs. la Mode, the milliner, called upon Mrs. Ludgate. The 
ruling passion still prevailed, notwithstanding the miserable 
state to which this lady was reduced. Even palsy could not 


deaden her personal vanity : her love of dress survived the total 
loss of her beauty ; she became accustomed to the sight of her 
distorted features, and was still anxious to wear what was most 
genteel and becoming. Mrs. la Mode had not a more constant 

"How are you, Mrs. Ludgate, this morning?" said she. 
;t But I need not ask, for you look surprising well. I just called 
to tell you a bit of a secret, that I have told to nobody else ; but 
you being such a friend and a favourite, have a right to know it. 
You must know, I am going next week to bring out a new 
spring hat ; and I have made one of my girls bring it up, to 
consult with you before any body else, having a great opinion of 
your taste and judgment: though it is a thing that must not be 
mentioned, because it would ruin me with Mrs. Pimlico, who 
made me swear she should have the first sight." 

Flattered by having the first sight of the spring hat, Mrs. 
Ludgate was prepossessed in its favour ; and, when she tried it 
on, she thought it made her look ten years younger. In short, 
it was impossible not to take one of the hats, though it cost 
three guineas, and was not worth ten shillings. 

" Positively, ma'am, you must patronize my spring hat," said 
the milliner. 

Mrs. Ludgate was decided by the word patronize : she took 
the hat, and desired that it should be set down in her bill : but 
Mrs. la Mode was extremely concerned that she had made a 
rule, nay a vow, not to take any thing but ready money for the 
.spring hats ; and she could not break her vow, even for her 
favourite Mrs. Ludgate. This was at least a prudent resolution 
in the milliner, who had lately received notice, from Mr. Lud- 
gate, not to give his wife any goods upon credit, for that he was 
determined to refuse payment of hei bills. The wife, who was 
now in a weak state of health, was not able as formerly to fight 
her battles with her husband upon equal terms. To cunning, 
the refuge of weakness, she had recourse ; and she considered 
that, though she could no longer outscold, she could still outwit 
her adversary. She could not have the pleasure and honour of 
patronizing the spring hat, without ready money to pay for it ; 
her husband, she knew, had always bank-notes in his escritoir 



and she argued with herself that it was hetter to act with* 
out his consent than against it. She went and tried, with 
certain keys of her own, to open Leonard's desk ; and open it 
came. She seized from a parcel of bank-notes as many as she 
wanted, and paid Mrs. la Mode with three of them for the spring 
hat. When her husband came home the next day, he did not 
observe that he had lost any of the notes ; and, as he went out 
of the house again without once coming into the parlour where 
his wife was sitting, she excused herself to her conscience, for 
not telling him of the freedom she had taken, by thinking — It 
will do as well to tell him of it to-morrow : a few notes, out of 
such a parcel as he has in his desk locked up from me, can't 
signify ; and he'll only bluster and bully when I do tell him of 
it ; so let him find it out when he pleases. 

The scheme of acting without her husband's consent in all 
cases, where she was morally certain that if she asked she could 
not obtain it, Mrs. Ludgate had often pursued with much 
success. A few days after she had bought the spring hat, she 
invited Mrs. Pimlico, Mrs. Paget, and all her genteel friends, to 
tea and cards. Her husband, she knew, would be out of the 
way, at his club, or at the tavern. Mrs. Pimlico, and Mrs. 
Paget, and all their genteel friends, did Mrs. Ludgate the 
honour to wait upon her on the appointed evening, and she had 
the satisfaction to appear upon this occasion in the new spring 
hat; while her friend, Mrs. Pimlico, whispered to young Mrs. 
Paget, "She patronize the new spring hat! What a fool Mrs. 
la Mode makes of her! A death's head in a wreath of roses ! 
How frightfully ridiculous !" 

Unconscious that she was an object of ridicule to the whole 
company, Mrs. Ludgate sat down to cards in unusually good 
spirits, firmly believing Mrs. la Mode's comfortable assertion, 
" that the spring hat made her look ten years younger." She 
was in the midst of a panegyric upon Mrs. la Mode's taste, 
when Jack, the footboy, came behind her chair, and whispered 
that three men were below, who desired to speak to her imme- 

" Men ! gentlemen, do you mean ?" said Mrs. Ludgate. 
" No, ma'am, not gentlemen." 



" Then send them away about their business, dunce," said the 
lady. "Some tradesfolk, I suppose; tell them I'm engaged with 

" But, ma'am, they will not leave the house without seeing 
you, or Mr. Ludgate." 

" Let them wait, then, till Mr. Ludgate comes in. I have 
nothing to say to them. What's their business, pray?" 

" It is something about a note, ma'am, that you gave to Mrs. 
la Mode, the other day." 

"What about it?" said Mrs. Ludgate, putting down her 
cards. . 

" They say it is a bad note." 

"Well, I'll change it ; bid them send it up." 

" They won't part with it, ma'am: they would not let it out of 
their hands, even to let me look at it for an instant." 

" What a riot about a pound note," said Mrs. Ludgate, rising 
from the card-table : " I'll speak to the fellows myself." 

She had recourse again to her husband's desk ; and, armed 
with a whole handful of fresh bank-notes, she went to the 
strangers. They told her that they did not want, and would not 
receive, any note in exchange for that which they produced ; but 
that, as it was a forgery, they must insist upon knowing from 
whom she had it. There was an air of mystery and authority 
about the strangers which alarmed Mrs. Ludgate ; and, without 
attempting any evasion, she said that she took the note from her 
husband's desk, and that she could not tell from whom he re- 
ceived it. The strangers declared that they must wait till Mr. 
Ludgate should return home. She offered to give them a guinea 
to drink, if they would go away quietly ; but this they refused. 
Jack, the footboy, whispered that they had pistols, and that he 
believed they were Bow-street officers. 

They went into the back parlour to wait for Mr. Ludgate; and 
the lady, in extreme perturbation, returned to her company and 
her cards. In vain she attempted to resume her conversation 
about the spring hat, and to conceal the agitation of her spirits. 
It was observed by all her friends, and especially by Mrs. Pim- 
lico, whose curiosity was strongly excited, to know the cause of 
her alarm. Mrs. Ludgate looked frequently at her watch, and 
•even yawned without ceremony, more than once, to manifest 



fier desire that the company should depart ; but no hints 
availed. The card players resolutely kept their seats, and 
even the smell of extinguishing candles had no effect upon their 
callous senses. 

The time appeared insupportahly long to the wretched mistress 
of the house ; and the contrast between her fantastic head- 
dress and her agonizing countenance every minute became more 

Twelve o'clock struck. " It is growing very late," said Mrs. 

" But we must have another rubber," said Mrs. Pimlico. 

She began to deal ; a knock was heard at the door. " There's 
Mr. Ludgate, I do suppose," said Mrs. Pimlico, continuing her 
deal. Mrs. Ludgate left her cards, and went out of the room 
without speaking. She stopped at the head of the staircase, fo7 
she heard a scuffle and loud voices below. Presently all was 
silent, and she ventured down when she heard the parlour door 
shut. The footman met her in the passage. 

" What is the matter ? " said she. 

" I don't know ; but I must be paid my wages," said he, " or 
must pay myself." 

lie passed on rudely. She half opened the parlour door, and 
looked in : her husband was lying back on the sofa, seemingly 
stupified by despair: one of the Bow-street officers was chafing 
his temples, another was rummaging his desk, and the third was 
closely examining certain notes, which he had just taken from 
the prisoner's pockets. 

" What is the matter?" cried Mrs. Ludgate, advancing. Her 
husband lifted up his eyes, saw her, started up, and, stamping 
furiously, exclaimed, "Cursed, cursed woman! you have brought 
me to the gallows, and all for this trumpery ! " cried he, 
snatching her gaudy hat from her head, and trampling it under 
his feet. " For this — for this ! you vain, you ugly creature, you 
have brought your husband to the gallows ! " 

One of the Bow-street officers caught hold of his uplifted arm, 
which trembled with rage. His wife sank to the ground; a 
second paralytic stroke deprived her of the power of speech. As 
they were carrying her up stairs, Mrs. Pimlico and the rest of 
the company came out 



cards in their hands, all eagerly asking what was the matter? 
When they learnt that the Bow-street officers were in the house, 
and that Mr. Ludgate was taken into custody for uttering forged 
bank-notes, there was a general uproar. Some declared it was 
shocking ! others protested it was no more than might have been 
expected ! The Ludgates lived so much above their circum- 
stances ! Then he was such a coxcomb ; and she such a poor 
vain creature ! Better for people to do like their neighbours — to 
make no show, and live honestly ! 

In the midst of these effusions of long suppressed envy, some 
few of the company attempted a slight word or two of apology 
for their host and hostess ; and the most humane went up to the 
wretched woman's bedchamber, to offer assistance and advice. 
But the greater number were occupied in tucking up their white 
gowns, finding their clogs, or calling for hackney coaches. In 
less than a quarter of an hour the house was clear of all Mrs. 
Ludgate friends. And it is to please such friends that whole 
families ruin themselves by unsuitable expense. 

Lucy and Allen were not, however, of this class of friends. 
A confused report of what had passed the preceding night was 
spread the next morning in Cranbourne-alley, by a young lady, 
who had been at Mrs. Ludgate's rout. The moment the news 
reached Allen's shop, he and Lucy set out immediately to offer 
their assistance to the unfortunate family. When they got to 
Weymouth-street, they gave only a single knock at the door, 
that they might not create any alarm. They were kept waiting 
a considerable time, and at last the door was opened by a slip- 
shod cook-maid, who seemed to be just up, though it was near 
eleven o'clock. She showed them into the parlour, which was 
quite dark ; and, whilst she was opening the shutters, told them 
that the house had been up all night, what with the Bow-street 
officers and her mistress's fits. Her master, she added, was 
carried off to prison, she believed. Lucy asked who was with Mrs. 
Ludgate, and whether she could go up to her room ? 

"There's nobody with her, ma'am, but nurse, that called 
by chance, early this morning, to see the children, and had the 
good-nature to stay to help, and has been sitting in mistress'? 
room, whilst I went to my bed. I'll step up and see if you can 
go in, ma'am." 

They waited for some time in the parlour, where every thins: 



looked desolate and in disorder. The ashes covered the hearth ; 
the poker lay upon the table, near Mr. Ludgate's desk, the lock 
of which had been broken open ; a brass flat candlestick, 
covered with tallow, was upon the window-seat, and beside it a 
broken cruet of vinegar ; a cravat, and red silk handkerchief, 
which had been taken from Mr. Ludgate's neck when he 
swooned, lay under the table. Lucy and her husband looked 
at one another for some moments without speaking. At last 
Allen said, " We had better lock up this press, where there are 
silver spoons and china, for there is nobody now left to take 
care of any thing, and the creditors will be here soon to seize all 
they can." Lucy said that she would go up into the dining- 
room, and take an inventory of the furniture. In the dining- 
room she found Jack the footboy collecting shillings from beneath 
the candlesticks on the card-tables : the two little children were 
sitting on the floor, the girl playing with a pack of cards, the 
boy drinking the dregs of a decanter of white wine. — " Poor 
children! Poor creatures!" said Lucy; "is there nobody to 
take care of you ?" 

" No ; nobody but Jack," said the boy, " and he's going away. 
Papa's gone I don't know where ; and mama's not up yet, so we 
have had no breakfast." 

The cook-maid came in to say that Mrs. Ludgate was awake, 
and sensible now, and would be glad to see Mrs. Allen, if she'd 
be so good as to walk up. Lucy told the children, who clung 
to her, that she would take them home with her, and give them 
some breakfast, and then hastened up stairs. She found her 
wretched friend humbled indeed to the lowest state of imbecile 
despair. Her speech had returned; but she spoke with diffi- 
culty, and scarcely so as to be intelligible. The good-natured 
nurse supported her in the bed, saying repeatedly, " Keep a 
good heart, madam ; keep a good heart ! Don't let your spirits 
sink so as this, and all may be well yet." 

"O Lucy! Lucy ! What will become of me now? What a 
change is here ! And nobody to help or advise me ! Nobody 
upon earth ! I am forsaken by all the world!" 

" Not forsaken by me," said Lucy, in a soothing voice. 

"What noise is that below?" cried Mrs. Ludgate. 

Lucy went down stairs to inquire, and found that, as Allen 
had foretold, the creditors were come to seize all they could 



find. Allen undertook to remain with them, and to bring them 
to some settlement, whilst Lucy had her unfortunate friend and 
the two children removed immediately to her own house. 

As to Mr. Ludgate, there was no hope for him; the proofs of 
his guilt were manifest and incontrovertible. The forged note, 
Avhich his wife had taken from his desk and given to the milliner, 
was one which had not gone through certain mysterious prepara- 
tions. It was a bungling forgery. The plate would doubtless 
have been retouched, had not this bill been prematurely cir- 
culated by Mrs. Ludgate : thus her vanity led to a discovery of 
her husband's guilt. All the associates in Lewis's iniquitous 
confederacy suffered the just punishment of their crimes. Many 
applications were made to obtain a pardon for Leonard Ludgate : 
but the executive power preserved that firmness which has not, 
upon any similar occasion, ever been relaxed. 

Lucy and Allen, those real friends, who would not encourage 
Mrs. Ludgate in extravagance, now, in the hour of adversity 
and repentance, treated her with the utmost tenderness and 
generosity. They were economical, and therefore could afford 
to be generous. All the wants of this destitute widow were 
supplied from the profits of their industry : they nursed her with 
daily humanity, bore with the peevishness of disease, and did all 
in their power to soothe the anguish of unavailing remorse. 

Nothing could be saved from the wreck of Mr. Ludgate's 
fortune for the widow ; but Allen, in looking over old Ludgate's 
books, had found and recovered some old debts, which Leonard, 
after his father's death, thought not worth looking after. The 
sum amounted to about three hundred and twenty pounds. As 
the whole concern had been made over to him, he could lawfully 
have appropriated this money to his own use, but he reserved 
it for his friend's children. He put it out to interest ; and in 
the mean time he and Lucy not only clothed and fed, but 
educated these orphans, with their own children, in habits of 
economy and industry. The orphans repaid, by their affection 
and gratitude, the care that was bestowed upon them ; and, 
when they grew up, they retrieved the credit of their family, by 
living according to their grandfather's useful maxim — " Out of 
debt out of danger." 
Nov. 1801. 



Near Derby, on the way towards Darley-grove, there is a 
cottage which formerly belonged to one Maurice Robinson. 
The jessamine which now covers the porch was planted by 
Ellen, his wife : she was an industrious, prudent, young woman ; 
liked by all her neighbours, because she was ready to assist and 
serve them, and the delight of her husband's heart ; for she was 
sweet-tempered, affectionate, constantly clean and neat, and 
made his house so cheerful that he was always in haste to come 
home to her, after his day's work. He was one of the manu- 
facturers employed in the cotton works at Derby ; and he was 
remarkable for his good conduct and regular attendance at his 

Things went on very well in every respect, till a relation of 
his, Mrs. Dolly Robinson, came to live with him. Mrs. Dolly 
had been laundry-maid in a great family, where she learned to 
love gossiping, and tea-drinkings, and where she acquired some 
taste for shawls and cherry-brandy. She thought that she did 
her young relations a great favour by coming to take up her 
abode with them, because, as she observed, they were young 
and inexperienced ; and she, knowing a great deal of the world, 
was able and willing to advise them; and besides, she had had 
a legacy of some hundred pounds left to her, and she had saved 
some little matters while in service, which might make it worth 
her relations' while to take her advice with proper respect, and 
to make her comfortable for the rest of her days. 

Ellen treated her with all due deference, and endeavoured to 
make her as comfortable as possible ; but Mrs. Dolly could not 
be comfortable unless, besides drinking a large spoonful of 
brandy in every dish of tea. she could make each person in the 

Popular Tales. M 


house do just what she pleased. She began by being dissatisfied 
because she could not persuade Ellen that brandy was whole- 
some, in tea, for the nerves ; next she was affronted because 
Ellen did not admire her shawl ; and, above all, she was 
grievously offended because Ellen endeavoured to prevent her 
from spoiling little George. 

George was, at this time, between five and six years old ; and 
his mother took a great deal of pains to bring him up well : 
she endeavoured to teach him to be honest, to speak the truth, 
to do whatever she and his father bid him, and to dislike being 

Mrs. Dolly, on the contrary, coaxed and flattered him, with- 
out caring whether he was obedient or disobedient, honest or 
dishonest. She was continually telling him that he was the 
finest little fellow in the world ; and that she would do great 
things for him, some time or another. 

What these great things were to be the boy seemed neither to 
know nor care ; and, except at the moments when she was 
stuffing gingerbread into his mouth, he seemed never to desire 
to be near her : he preferred being with William Deane, his 
father's friend, who was a very ingenious man, and whom he 
liked to see at work. 

William gave him a slate, and a slate pencil ; and taught him 
how to make figures, and to cast up sums ; and made a little 
wheel-barrow for him, of which George was very fond, so that 
George called him in play "King Deane." All these things 
tended to make Mrs. Dolly dislike William Deane, whom she 
considered as her rival in power. 

One day, it was George's birthday, Mrs. Dolly invited a 
party, as she called it, to drink tea with her ; and, at tea-time, 
she was entertaining the neighbours with stories of what she had 
seen in the great world. Amongst others, she had a favourite 
story of a butler, in the family where she had lived, who bought 
a ticket in the lottery when he was drunk, which ticket came up 
a ten thousand pound prize when he was sober ; and the butler 
turned gentleman, and kept his coach directly. 

One evening, Maurice Robinson and William came home, 
after their day's work, just in time to hear the end of this story ; 
and Mrs. Dolly concluded it by turning to Maurice, and assuring 



him that lie must put into the lottery and try his luck : for why 
should not he be as lucky as another? "Here," said she, "a 
man is working and drudging all the days of his life to get a 
decent coat to put on, and a bit of bread to put into his child's 
mouth ; and, after all, may be he can't do it ; though all the 
while, for five guineas, or a guinea, or half-a-guinea even, if he 
has but the spirit to lay out his money properly, he has the 
chance of making a fortune without any trouble. Surely a man 
should try his luck, if not for his own, at least for his children's 
sake," continued Mrs. Dolly, drawing little George towards her, 
and hugging him in her arms. " Who knows what might 
turn up ! Make your papa buy a ticket in the lottery, love ; 
there's my darling; and I'll be bound he'll have good luck. 
Tell him, I'll be bound we shall have a ten thousand pound 
prize at least; and all for a few guineas. I'm sure I think none 
but a miser would grudge the money, if he had it to give." 

As Mrs. Dolly finished her speech, she looked at William 
Deane, whose countenance did not seem to please her. Maurice 
was whistling, and Ellen knitting as fast as possible. Little 
George was counting William Deane's buttons. " Pray, Mr. 
Deane," cried Mrs. Dolly, turning full upon him, "what may 
your advice and opinion be? since nothing's to be done here 
without your leave and word of command, forsooth. Now, as 
you know so much and have seen so much of the world, would 
you be pleased to tell this good company, and myself into the 
bargain, what harm it can do anybody, but a miser, to lay out a 
small sum to get a good chance of a round thousand, or five 
thousand, or ten thousand, or twenty thousand pounds, without 
more ado ?" 

As she pronounced the words five thousand, ten thousand, 
twenty thousand pounds, in a triumphant voice, all the company 
except Ellen and William, seemed to feel the force of her 

William coolly answered that he was no miser, but that he 
thought money might be better laid out than in the lottery ; for 
that there was more chance of a man's getting nothing for his 
money than of his getting a prize ; that when a man worked 
for fair wages every day, he was sure of getting something for 
his pains, and with honest industry, and saving, might get rich 

m 2 


enough in time, and have to thank himself for it, which would 
be a pleasant thing : but that if a man, as he had known many, 
set his heart upon the turning of the lottery wheel, he would 
leave off putting his hand to any thing the whole year round, 
and so grow idle, and may be, drunken; "and then," said 
William, "at the year's end, if he have a blank, what is he to 
do for his rent, or for his wife and children, that have nothing 
to depend upon but him and his industry ?" 

Here Maurice sighed, and so did Ellen, whilst William went 
on and told many a true story of honest servants, and trades- 
men, whom he had known, who had ruined themselves by 
gaming and lotteries. 

"But," said Maurice, who now broke silence, "putting into 
the lottery, William, is not gaming, like dice or cards, or 
such things. Putting into the lottery is not gaming, as I take 

"As I take it, though," replied William, "it is gaming. For 
what is gaming but trusting one's money, or somewhat, to luck 
and hap-hazard? And is there not as much hap-hazard in the 
turning of the wheel as in the coming up of the dice, or the 
dealing of the cards ?" 

" True enough ; but somebody must get a prize," argued 

"And somebody must win at dice or cards," said William, 
" but a many more must lose ; and a many more, I take it, must 
lose by the lottery than by any other gam« ; else how would 
they that keep the lottery gain by it, as they do ? Put a case. 
If you and I, Maurice, were this minute to play at dice, we 
stake our money down on the table here, and one or t'other 
takes all up. But, in the lottery, it is another affair; for the 
whole of what is put in does never come out." 

This statement of the case made some impression upon 
Maurice, who was no fool; but Mrs. Dolly's desire that he 
should buy a lottery ticket, was not to be conquered by reason : 
it grew stronger and stronger the more she was opposed. She 
was silent and cross during the remainder of the evening ; and 
the next morning, at breakfast, she was so low that even her 
accustomed dose of brandy, in her tea, had no effect. 

Now Maurice, besides his confused hopes that Mrs. Doily 



would leave something handsome to him or his family, thought 
himself obliged to her for having given a helping hand to his 
father, when he was in distress ; and therefore he wished to 
bear with her humours, and to make her happy in his house. 
He knew that the lottery ticket was uppermost in her mind, and 
the moment he touched upon that subject she brightened up. 
She told him she had had a dream ; and she had great faith in 
dreams : and she had dreamed, three times over, that he had 
bought number 339 in the lottery, and that it had come up a 
ten thousand pound prize ! 

"Well, Ellen," said Maurice, "I've half a mind to try my 
luck ; and it can do us no harm, for I'll only put off buying the 
cow this year." 

"Nay," said Mrs. Dolly, "why so? may be you don't know 
what I know, that Ellen's as rich as a Jew ? She has a cunning 
little cupboard, in the wall yonder, that I see her putting money 
into every day of her life, and none goes out." 

Ellen immediately went and drew back a small sliding oak 
door in the wainscot, and took out a glove, in which some 
money was wrapped ; she put it altogether in her husband's 
hand, saying, with a good-humoured smile, " There is my year's 
spinning, Maurice: I only thought to have made more of it 
before I gave it you. Do what you please with it." 

Maurice was so much moved by his wife's kindness, that he at 
the moment determined to give up his lottery scheme, of which, 
he knew, she did not approve. But, though a good-natured, 
well-meaning man, he was of an irresolute character ; and even 
when he saw what w r as best to be done, had not courage to 
persist. As he was coming home from work, a few days after 
Ellen had given him the money, he saw, in one of the streets of 
Derby, a house with large windows finely illuminated, and read 
the words "Lottery-office of Fortunatus, Gould, and Co. At 
this office was sold the fortunate ticket, which came up on 
Monday last a twenty thousand pound prize. Ready money 
paid for prizes immediately on demand. 

The 1.5,000/. 

■till in the wheel. None but the brave deserve a prize." 



Whilst Maurice was gazing at this and other similar advertise- 
ments, which were exhibited in various bright colours in this 
tempting window, his desire to try his fortune in the lottery 
returned ; and he was just going into the office to purchase a 
ticket, when luckily he found that he had not his leathern purse 
in his pocket. He walked on, and presently brushed by some 
one ; it was William Deane, who was looking very eageidy over 
some old books, at a bookseller's stall. " I wish I had but 
money to treat myself with some of these," said William : " but 
I cannot ; they cost such a deal of money, having all these prints 
in them." 

"We can lend you, — no, we can't neither," cried Maurice, 
stopping himself short ; for he recollected that he could not both 
lend his friend money to buy the books and buy a lottery ticket. 
He was in great doubt which he should do ; and walked on with 
William, in silence. "So, then," cried he at last, "you would 
not advise me to put into the lottery?" 

"Nay," said William laughing, "it is not for me to advise you 
about it, now ; for I know you are considering whether you had 
best put it into the lottery or lend me the money to buy these 
books. Now, I hope you don't think I was looking to my own 
interest in what I said the other day; for I can assure you, I had 
no thoughts of meeting with these books at that time, and did 
not know that you had any money to spare." 

" Say no more about it," replied Maurice. "Don't I know you 
are an honest fellow, and would lend me the money if I wanted 
it ? You shall have it as soon as ever we get home. Only mind 
and stand by me stoutly, if Mrs. Dolly begins any more about 
the lottery." 

Mrs. Dolly did not fail to renew her attacks; and she was 
both provoked and astonished when she found that the 
contents of the leathern purse were put into the hands of 
William Deane. 

" Books, indeed ! To buy books forsooth ! What business 
had such a one as he with books ?" She had seen a deal of life, 
she said, and never saw no good come of bookish bodies; and 
she was sorry to see that her own darling, George, was taking to 
the bookish line, and that his mother encouraged him in it. She 
wculd lay her best shawl, she said, to a gauze handkerchief, that 



"William Deane would, sooner or later, beggar himself, and all 
that belonged to him, by his books and his gimcracks ; "and if 
George were my son," continued she, raising her voice, " I'd 
soon cure him of prying and poring into that man's picture- 
books, and following him up and down with wheels and mechanic 
machines, which will never come to no good, nor never make 
a gentleman of him, as a ticket in the lottery might and 

All mouths were open at once to defend William. Maurice 
declared he was the most industrious man in the parish ; that his 
books never kept him from his work, but always kept him from 
the alehouse and bad company ; and that, as to his gimcracks 
and machines, he never laid out a farthing upon them but what 
he got by working on holidays, and odd times, when other folks 
were idling or tippling. His master, who understood the like of 
those things, said, before all the workmen at the mills, that 
William Deane's machines were main clever, and might come to 
bring in a deal of money for him and his. 

"Why," continued Maurice, "there was Mr. Arkwright, the 
man that first set a going all our cotton frames here, was no 
better than William Deane, and yet came at last to make a 
power of money. It stands to reason, any how, that William 
Deane is hurting nobody, nor himself neither ; and, moreover, he 
may divert himself his own way, without being taken to task 
by man, woman, or child. As to children, he's very good to 
my child ; there's one loves him," pointing to George, " and I'm 
glad of it : for I should be ashamed, so I should, that my flesh 
and blood should be in any ways disregardful or ungracious to 
those that be kind and good to them." 

Mrs. Dolly, swelling with anger, repeated in a scornful voice, 
" Disregardful, ungracious! I wonder folks can talk so to me! 
But this is all the gratitude one meets with, in this world, for all 
one does. Well, well ! I'm an old woman, and shall soon be out 
of people's way ; and then they will be sorry they did not use 
me better; and then they'll bethink them that it is not so easy to 
gain a friend as to lose a friend ; and then " 

Here Mrs. Dolly's voice was stopped by her sobs ; and Mau- 
rice, who was a very good-natured man, and much disposed to 



gratitude, said he begged her pardon a thousand times, if he 
had done any thing to offend her ; and declared his only wish 
was to please and satisfy her, if she would but tell him how. 

She continiu'd sobbing, without making any answer, for some 
time : but at last she cried, " My ad — my ad — my ad-vice is 
never taken in any thing!" 

Maurice declared he was ready to take her advice, if that was 
the only way to make her easy in her mind. " I know what 
you mean, now," added he: "you are still harping upon the 
lottery ticket. Well, I'll buy a ticket this day week, after I've 
sold the cow I bought at the fair. Will you have done sobbing, 
noA*-, cousin Dolly?" 

" Indeed, cousin Maurice, it is only for your own sake 
I speak," said she, wiping her eyes. "You know you was 
always a favourite of mine from your childhood up ; I nursed 
you, and had you on my knee, and foretold often and often you 
would make a fortune, so I did. And will you buy the ticket 
I dreamed about, hey?" 

Maurice assured her that, if it was to be had, he would. The 
cow was accordingly sold the following week, and the ticket in 
the lottery was bought. It was not, however, the number about 
which Mrs. Dolly had dreamed, for that was already purchased 
by some other person. The ticket Maurice bought was number 
80 ; and, after he had got it, his cousin Dolly continually 
deplored that it was not the very number of which she dreamed. 
It would have been better not to have taken her advice at all 
than to have taken it when it was too late. 

Maurice was an easy-tempered man, and loved quiet ; and 
when he found that he was reproached for something or other 
whenever he came into his own house, he began to dislike the 
thought of going home after his day's work, and loitered at 
public-houses sometimes, but more frequently at the lottery- 
office. As the lottery was now drawing, his whole thoughts 
were fixed upon his ticket; and he neglected his work at the 
manufactory. " What signify a few shillings wages, more or 
less?" said he to himself. "If my ticket should come up a 
prize, it makes a rich man of me at once." 

His ticket at last was drawn a prize of five thousand pounds ! 



He was almost out of his senses with joy ! He ran home to tell 
the news. "A prize! a prize, Dolly!" cried he, as soon as he 
had breath to speak. 

" That comes of taking my advice !" said Dolly. 

"A five thousand pound prize! my dear Ellen," cried he, 
and down he kicked her spinning-wheel. 

" I wish we may be as happy with it as we have been without 
it, Maurice," said Ellen; and calmly lifted her spinning-wheel 
up again. 

"No more spinning-wheels!" cried Maurice; "no more 
spinning ! no more work ! We have nothing to do now but to 
be as happy as the day is long. Wife, I say, put by that 

" You're a lady now ; and ought to look and behave like a 
lady," added Mrs. Dolly, stretching up her head, "and not 
stand moping over an old spinning-wheel." 

" I don't know how to look and behave like a lady," said 
Ellen, and sighed: "but I hopes Maurice won't love me the less 
for that." 

Mrs. Dolly was for some time wholly taken up with the 
pleasure of laying out money, and "preparing," as she said, "to 
look like somebody." She had many acquaintances at Padding- 
ton, she said, and she knew of a very snug house there, where 
they could all live very yenteel. 

She was impatient to go thither, for two reasons ; that she 
might make a figure in the eyes of these acquaintances, and 
that she might get Maurice and little George away from William 
Deane, who was now become more than ever the object of her 
aversion and contempt; for he actually advised his friend not to 
think of living in idleness, though he had five thousand pounds. 
William moreover recommended it to him to put his money out 
to interest, or to dispose of a good part of it in stocking a farm, 
or in fitting out a shop. Ellen, being a farmer's daughter, 
knew well the management of a dairy ; and, when a girl, had 
also assisted in a haberdasher's shop, that was kept in Derby by 
her uncle ; so she was able and willing, she said, to assist 
her husband in whichever of these ways of life he should take 

Maurice, irresolute and desirous of pleasing all parties, at 



last said, it would be as well, seeing they were now rich enough 
not to mind such a journey, just to go to Paddington and look 
about 'em ; and if so be they could not settle there in comfort, 
why still they might see a bit of London town, and take their 
pleasure for a month or so ; and he hoped William Deane would 
come along with them, and it should not be a farthing out of his 

Little George said every thing he could think of to persuade 
his King Deane to go with them, and almost pulled him to the 
coach door, when they were setting off ; but William could not 
leave his master and his business. The child clung with his legs 
and arms so fast to him that they were forced to drag him into 
the carriage. 

"You'll find plenty of friends at Paddington, who'll give you 
many pretty things. Dry your eyes, and see ! you're in a 
coach!" said Mrs. Dolly. 

George di'ied his eyes directly, for he was ashamed of crying; 
but he answered, " I don't care for your pretty things. I shall 
not find my good dear King Deane any where;" and, leaning upon 
his mother's lap, he twirled round the wheel of a little cart, 
which William Deane had given him, and which he carried 
under his ann as his greatest treasure. 

Ellen was delighted to see signs of such a grateful and affec- 
tionate disposition in her son, and all her thoughts were bent 
upon him ; whilst Mrs. Dolly chattered on about her acquaint- 
ance at Paddington, and her satisfaction at finding herself in a 
coach once again. Her satisfaction was not, however, of long 
continuance ; for she grew so sick that she was obliged, or 
thought herself obliged, every quarter of an hour, to have 
recourse to her cordial bottle. Her spirits were at last raised so 
much, that she became extremely communicative, and she laid 
open to Maurice and Ellen all her plans of future pleasure and 
expense. • 

"In the first place," said she, "I am heartily glad now I 
have got you away from that cottage that was not fit to live in ; 
and from certain folks that shall be nameless, that would have 
one live all one's life like scrubs, like themselves. You must 
know that when Ave get to Paddington, the first thing I shall do 
shall be to buy a handsome coach." 



"A coach!" exclaimed Maurice and Ellen, with extreme 

"A coach, to he sure," said Mrs. Dolly. " I say a coach." 

" I say we shall be ruined, then," said Maurice ; " and laughed 
at into the bargain." 

"La! you don't know what money is," said Mrs. Dolly. 
"Why haven't you five thousand pounds, man? You don't 
know what can be done with five thousand pounds, cousin 

" No, nor you neither, cousin Dolly ; or you'd never talk of 
setting up your coach." 

" Why not, pray ? I know what a coach costs as well as another. 
I know we can have a second-hand coach, and we need not tell 
nobody that it's second-hand, for about a hundred pounds. And 
what's a hundred pounds out of five thousand ?" 

"But if we've a coach, we must have horses, must not we?" 
said Ellen, "and they'll cost a hundred more." 

" Oh, we can have job horses, that will cost us little or no- 
thing," said Mrs. Dolly. 

"Say 150Z. a-year," replied Maurice; "for I heard my 
master's coachman telling that the livery-keeper in London 
declared as how he made nothing by letting him have job horses 
for 150/. a-year." 

" We are to have our own coach," said Dolly, "and that will 
be cheaper, you know." 

"But the coach won't last for ever," said Ellen ; " it must be 
mended, and that will cost something." 

" It is time enough to think of that when the coach wants 
mending," said Mrs. Dolly; who, without giving herself the 
trouble of calculating, seemed to be convinced that every thing 
might be done for five thousand pounds. " I must let you know 
a little secret," continued she. " I have written, that is, got a 
friend to write, to have the house at Paddington taken for a 
year ; for I know it's quite the thing for us, and we are only to 
give fifty pounds a-year for it : and you know that one thousand 
pounds would pay that rent for twenty years to come." 

"But then," said Ellen, "you will want to do a great many 
other things with that thousand pounds. There's the coach you 
mentioned ; and you said we must keep a footboy, and must see 



a deal of company, and must not grudge to buy clothes, and 
that we could not follow any trade, nor have a farm, nor do 
any thing to make money ; so we must live on upon what we 
have. Now let us count, and see how we shall do it. You 
know, Maurice, that William Deane inquired about what we 
could get for our five thousand pounds, if we put it out to 

" Ay ; two hundred a-year, he said.' 

" Well, we pay fifty pounds a-year for the rent of the house, 
and a hundred a-year we three and the boy must have to live 
upon, and there is but fifty pounds a-year left." 

Mrs. Dolly, with some reluctance, gave up the notion of the 
coach ; and Ellen proposed that five hundred pounds should be 
laid out in furnishing a haberdasher's shop, and that the rest of 
their money should be put out to interest, till it was wanted. 
" Maurice and I can take care of the shop very well ; and we 
can live well enough upon what we make by it," said Ellen. 

Mrs. Dolly opposed the idea of keeping a shop ; and observed 
that they should not, in that case, be gentlefolks. Besides, she 
said, she was sure the people of the house she had taken would 
never let it be turned into a shop. 

What Mrs. Dolly had said was indeed true. When they got 
to Paddington, they found that the house was by no means fit 
for a shop ; and as the bargain was made for a year, and they 
could not get it off their hands without considerable loss, Ellen 
was forced to put off her prudent scheme. In the mean time she 
determined to learn how to keep accounts properly. 

There was a small garden belonging to the house, in which 
George set to work ; and though he could do little more than 
pull up the weeds, yet this kept him out of mischief and idle- 
ness ; and she sent him to a day-school, where he would learn 
to read, write, and cast accounts. When he came home in the 
evenings, he used to show her his copy-book, and read his 
lesson, and say his spelling to her, while she was at work. His 
master said it was a pleasure to teach him, he was so eager to 
learn ; and Ellen was glad that she had money enough to pay 
for having her boy well taught. Mrs. Dolly, all this time, was 
sitting and gossiping amongst her acquaintance in Paddington. 
These acquaintance were people whom she had seen when they 



visited the housekeeper in the great family where she was 
laundry-maid ; and she was very proud to show them that 
she was now a finer person than even the housekeeper, who was 
formerly the object of her envy. She had tea-drinking parties, 
and sometimes dinner parties, two or three in a week ; and hired 
a footboy, and laughed at Ellen for her low notions, and dis- 
suaded Maurice from all industrious schemes ; still saying to 
him, " Oh, you'll have time enough to think of going to work 
when you have spent all your money." 

Maurice, who had been accustomed to be at work for several 
hours in the day, at first thought it would be a fine thing to walk 
about, as Mrs. Dolly said, like a gentleman, without having any 
thing to do ; but when he came to try it, he found himself more 
tired by this way of life than he had ever felt himself in the 
cotton-mills at Derby. He gaped and gaped, and lounged about 
every morning, and looked a hundred times at his new watch, 
and put it to his ear to listen whether it was going, the time 
seemed to him to pass so slowly. Sometimes he sauntered 
through the town, came back again, and stood at his own door 
looking at dogs fighting for a bone ; at others, he went into the 
kitchen, to learn what there was to be for dinner, and to watch 
the maid cooking, or the boy cleaning knives. It was a great 
relief for him to go into the room where his wife was at work : 
but he never would have been able to get through a year in this 
way without the assistance of a pretty little black horse, for which 
he paid thirty guineas. During a month he was very happy in 
riding backwards and forwards on the Edgeware-road : but 
presently the horse fell lame ; it was discovered that he was 
spavined and broken-winded ; and the jockey from whom 
Maurice bought him was no where to be found. Maurice sold 
the horse for five guineas, and bought a fine bay for forty, which 
he was certain would turn out well, seeing he paid such a good 
price for him ; but the bay scarcely proved better than the 
black. How he managed it we do not know, but it seems he was 
not so skilful in horses as in cotton-weaving ; for at the end of 
the year he had no horse, and had lost fifty guineas by his 

Another hundred guineas were gone, nobody in the family 
but himself knew how : but he resolved to waste no more money 



and began the new year well, by opening a haberdasher's 
shop in Paddington. The fitting up this shop cost them five 
hundred pounds ; it was tolerably stocked, and Ellen was so 
active, and so attentive to all customers, that she brought 
numbers to Maurice Robinson's new shop. They made full 
twelve per cent, upon all they sold ; and, in six months, had 
turned three hundred pounds twice, and had gained the profit of 
seventy-two pounds. Maurice, however, had got such a habit 
of lounging, during his year of idleness, that he could not relish 
steady attendance in the shop : he was often out, frequently 
came home late at night, and Ellen observed that he sometimes 
looked extremely melancholy ; but when she asked him whether 
lie was ill, or what ailed him, he always turned away, answering, 
" Nothing — nothing ails me. Why do ye fancy any thing ails 
me ?" 

Alas ! it was no fancy. Ellen saw too plainly, that something 
was going wrong : but as her husband persisted in silence, she 
could not tell how to assist or comfort him. 

Mrs. Dolly in the mean time was going on spending her 
money in junketing. She was, besides, no longer satisfied with 
taking her spoonful of brandy in every dish of tea ; she found 
herself uncomfortable, she said, unless she took every morning 
fasting a full glass of the good cordial recommended to her by 
her friend, Mrs. Joddrell, the apothecary's wife. Now this 
good cordial, in plain English, was a strong dram. Ellen, in 
the gentlest manner she could, represented to Mrs. Dolly that 
she was hurting her health, and was exposing herself, by this 
increasing habit of drinking ; but she replied with anger, that 
what she took was for the good of her health ; that everybody 
knew best what agreed with them ; that she should trust to her 
own feelings ; and that nobody need talk, when all she took 
came out of the apothecary's shop, and was paid for honestly 
with her own money. 

Besides what came out of the apothecary's shop, Mrs. Dolly 
found it agreed with her constantly to drink a pot of porter at 
dinner, and another at supper; and always when she had a cold, 
and she had often a cold, she drank large basins full of white 
wine whey, "to throw off her cold," as she said. 

Then by degrees, she lost her appetite, and found she could 



eat nothing, unless she had a glass of brandy at dinner. Small 
beer, she discovered, did not agree with her ; so at luncheon 
time she always had a tumbler full of brandy and water. This 
she carefully mixed herself, and put less and less water in every 
day, because brandy, she was convinced, was more wholesome 
for some constitutions than water; and brandy and peppermint, 
taken together, was an infallible remedy for all complaints, low 
spirits included. 


Mrs. Dolly never found herself comfortable, moreover, unless 
she dined abroad two or three days in the week, at a public- 
house, near Paddington, where she said she was more at home 
than she was any where else. There was a bowling-green at this 
public-house, and it was a place to which tea-drinking parties 
resorted. Now Mrs. Dolly often wanted to take little George 
out with her to these parties, and said, " It is a pity and shame 
to keep the poor thing always mewed up at home, without ever 
letting him have any pleasure ! Would not you like to go with 
me, George dear, in the one-horse chaise ? and would not you be 
glad to have cakes, and tea, and all the good things that are to 
be had?" 

"I should like to go in the one-horse chaise, to be sure, and 
to have cakes and tea ; but I should not like to go with you, 
because mother does not choose it," answered George, in his 
usual plain way of speaking. Ellen, who had often seen Mrs. 
Dolly offer him wine and punch to drink, by way of a treat, was 
afraid he might gradually learn to love spirituous liquors ; and 
that if he acquired a habit of drinking such when he was a boy, 
he would become a drunkard when he should grow to be a man. 
George was now almost nine years old ; and he could understand 
the reason why his mother desired that he would not drink 
spirituous liquors. She once pointed out to him a drunken man, 
who was reeling along the street, and bawling ridiculous non- 
sense : he had quite lost his senses, and as he did not attend to 
the noise of a carriage coming fast behind him, he could not get 



out of the way time enough, and the coachman could not stop 
his horses ; so the drunken man was thrown down, and the 
wheel of the carriage went over his leg, and hroke it in a 
shocking manner. George saw him carried towards his home, 
writhing and groaning with pain. " See what comes of drunken- 
ness !" said Ellen. 

She stopped the people, who were carrying the hurt man past 
her door, and had him brought in and laid upon a bed, whilst a 
surgeon was sent for. George stood beside the bed in silence; 
and the words "See what comes of drunkenness!" sounded in 
his ears. 

^Another time, his mother pointed out to him a man with ter- 
ribly swollen legs, and a red face blotched all over, lifted out of 
a fine coach by two footmen in fine liveries. The man leaned 
upon a gold-headed cane, after he was lifted from his carriage, 
and tried with his other hand to take off his hat to a lady, who 
asked him how he did ; but his hand shook so much that, when 
he had got his hat off, he could not put it rightly upon his head, 
and his footman put it on for him. The boys in the street 
laughed at him. "Poor man!" said Ellen; "that is Squire 

L , who, as you heard the apothecary say, has drunk harder 

in his day than any man that ever he knew ; and this is what; 
he has brought himself to by drinking ! All the physic in the 
apothecary's shop cannot make him well again ! No ; nor can 
his fine coach and fine footmen any more make him easy or 
happy, poor man !" 

George exclaimed, " I wonder how people can be such fools 
as to be drunkards ! I will never be a drunkard, mother; and 
now I know the reason why you desired me not to drink the 
wine, when Mrs. Dolly used to say to me, 1 Down with it, 
George dear, it will do ye no harm.' " 

These circumstances made such an impression upon George 
that there was no further occasion to watch him ; he always 
pushed away the glass when Mrs. Dolly filled it for him. 

One day his mother said to him, " Now I can trust you to 
take care of yourself, George, I shall not watch you. Mrs. 
Dolly is going to a bowling-green tea-party this evening, and 
has asked you to go with her; and I have told her you shall." 

George accordingly went with Mrs. Dolly to the bowling- 



green. The company drank tea out of doors, in summer-houses. 
After tea, Mrs. Dolly bid George go and look at the bowling- 
green ; and George was very well entertained with seeing the 
people playing at bowls ; but when it grew late in the evening, 
and when the company began to go away, George looked about 
for Mrs. Dolly. She was not in the summer-house, where they 
had drunk tea, nor was she any where upon the terrace round 
the bowling-green ; so he went to the public-house in search of 
her, and at last found her standing at the bar with the landlady. 
Her face was very red, and she had a large glass of brandy in 
her hand, into which the landlady was pouring some drops, 
which she said were excellent for the stomach. 

Mrs. Dolly started so when she saw George, that she threw 
down half her glass of brandy. " Bless us, child ! I thought 
you were safe at the bowling-green," said she. 

" I saw every body going away," answered George ; " so 1 
thought it was time to look for you, and to go home." 

" But before you go, my dear little gentleman," said the 
landlady, "you must eat one of these tarts, for my sake." As 
she spoke, she gave George a little tart: "and here," added 
she, "you must drink my health too in something good. Don't 
be afraid, love ; it's nothing that will hurt you : it's very sweet 
and nice." 

" It is wine, or spirits of some sort or other, I know by the 
smell," said George; "and I will not drink it, thank you, 

" The boy's a fool !" said Mrs. Dolly ; "but it's his mother's 
fault. She won't let him taste any thing stronger than water. But 
now your mother's not by, you know," said Mrs. Dolly, winking 
at the landlady ; " now your mother's not by " 

" Yes, and nobody will tell of you," added the landlady ; "so 
do what you like : drink it down, love." 

"No!" cried George, pushing away the glass which Mrs. 
Dolly held to his lips. "No! no! no! I say. I will not do 
any thing now my mother's not by, that I would not do if she 
was here in this room." 

" Well ; hush, hush ; and don't bawl so loud though," said 
Mrs. Dolly, who saw, what George did not see, a gentleman 

Popular 'Tales. u 



that was standing at the door of the parlour opposite to them, 
and who could hear every thing that was saying at the bar. 

" I say," continued George, in a loud voice, " mother told 
me she could trust me to take care of myself; and so I will take 
care of myself ; and I am not a fool, no more is mother, I know ; 
for she told me the reasons why it is not good to drink spirituous 

." Mrs. Dolly pushed him away, without giving him time 

to finish his sentence, bidding him go and see whether the gig 
was ready ; for it was time to be going home. 

As George was standing in the yard, looking at the me- 
chanism of the one-horse chaise and observing how the horse 
was put to, somebody tapped him upon the shoulder, and look- 
ing up, he saw a gentleman with a very good-natured coun- 
tenance, who smiled upon him, and asked him whether he was 
the little boy who had just been talking so loud in the bar? 

" Yes, sir," says George. "You seem to be a good little 
boy," added he ; "and Hiked what I heard you say very much. 
So you will not do any thing when your mother is not by, that 
you would not do if she was here — was not that what you 

" Yes, sir ; as well as I remember." 

" And who is your mother?" continued the gentleman. 
" Where does she live?" 

George told him his mother's name, and where she lived ; 
and the gentleman said, " I will call at your mother's house as 
I go home, and tell her what I heard you say ; and I will ask 
her to let you come to my house, where you will see a little boy 
of your own age, whom I should be very glad to have seen be- 
have as well as you did just now." 

Mr. Belton, for that was the name of the gentleman who took 
notice of George, was a rich carpet manufacturer. He had ;i 
country-house near Paddington ; and the acquaintance which 
was thus begun became a source of great happiness to George. 
Mr. Belton lent him several entertaining books, and took him to 
see many curious things in London. Ellen was rejoiced to hear 
from him the praises of her son. All the pleasure of Ellen's 
life had, for some months past, depended upon this boy ; for her 
husband was seldom at home, and the gloom that was spread 



over his countenance alarmed her, whenever she saw him. As 
for Mrs. Dolly, she was no companion for Ellen : her love of 
drinking had increased to such a degree that she could love 
nothing else; and when she was not half intoxicated, she was in 
such low spirits that she sat (either on the side of her bed, or in 
her arm-chair, wrapped in a shawl) sighing and crying, and see- 
sawing herself; and sometimes she complained to Maurice that 
Ellen did not care whether she was dead or alive ; and at others 
that George had always something or other to do, and never liked 
to sit in her room and keep her company. Besides all this, she 
got into a hundred petty quarrels with the neighbours, who had 
a knack of remembering what she said when she was drunk, and 
appealing to her for satisfaction when she was sober. Mrs. Dolly 
regularly expected that Ellen should, as she called it, stand her 
friend in these altercations ; to which Ellen could not always 
in justice consent. Ah ! said Ellen to herself one night, as she 
was sitting up late waiting for her husband's return home, it is not 
the having five thousand pounds that makes people happy ! 
"When Maurice loved to come home after his day's work to our 
little cottage, and when our George was his delight, as he is 
mine, then I was light of heart; but now it is quite otherwise. 
However, there is no use in complaining, nor in sitting down to 
think upon melancholy things; and Ellen started up and went to 
work, to mend one of her husband's waistcoats. 

Whilst she was at this employment, she listened continually 
for the return of Maurice. The clock struck twelve, and one, 
and no husband came ! She heard no noise in the street when 
she opened her window, for every body but herself was in bed 
and asleep. At last she heard the sound of footsteps ; but 
it was so dark that she could not see who the person was, who 
continued walking backwards and forwards, just underneath the 

" Is it you, Maurice ? Are you there, Maurice?" said Ellen. 
The noise of the footsteps ceased, and Ellen again said, " Is it 
you, Maurice ? Are you there?" 

" Yes," answered Maurice ; " it is I. Why are you not abed 
and asleep, at this time of night?" 

" I am waiting for you," replied Ellen. 

n 2 



" You need not wait for me ; I have the key of the house door 
in my pocket, and can let myself in whenever I choose it." 
" And don't you choose it now?" said Ellen. 
" No. Shut down the window." 

Ellen shut the window, and went and sat down upon the side 
of her boy's bed. He was sleeping. Ellen, who could not 
sleep, took up her work again, and resolved to wait till her 
husband should come in. At last, the key turned in the house 
door, and presently she heard her husband's steps coming softly 
towards the room where she was sitting. He opened the door 
gently, as if he expected to find her asleep, and was afraid of 
awakening her. He started when he saw her; and slouching 
his hat over his face, threw himself into a chair without speaking 
a single word. Something terrible has happened to him, surely ! 
thought Ellen ; and her hand trembled so that she could scarcely 
hold her needle, when she tried to go on working. 

" What are you doing there, Ellen?" said he, suddenly push- 
ing back his hat. 

"I'm only mending your waistcoat, love," said Ellen, in a 
faltering voice. 

"I am a wretch! a fool! a miserable wretch!" exclaimed 
Maurice, starting up and striking his forehead with violence as 
he walked up and down the room. 

" What can be the matter?" said Ellen. " It is worse to me 
to see you in this way, than to hear whatever misfortune has 
befallen you. Don't turn away from me, husband ! Who in 
the world loves you so well as I do ?" 

"Oh, Ellen," said he, letting her take his hand, but still 
turning away, " you will hate me when you know what I have 

" I cannot hate you, I believe," said Ellen. 

" We have not sixpence left in the world !" continued Maurice, 
vehemently. " We must leave this house to-morrow ; we must 
sell all we have ; I must go to jail, Ellen ! You must work all the 
rest of your days harder than ever you did; and so must that 
poor boy, who lies sleeping yonder. He little thinks that his 
father has made a beggar of him ; and that, whilst his mother 
was the best of mothers to him, his father was ruining him. her. 



and himself, with a pack of rascals at the gaming-table. Ellen, 
I have lost every shilling of our money !" 

" Is that all V said Ellen. " That's bad ; but I am glad that 
you have done nothing wicked. We can work hard, and be 
happy again. Only promise me now, dear husband, that you 
will never game any more." 

Maurice threw himself upon his knees, and swore that he 
never, to the last hour of his life, would go to any gaming-table 
again, or play at any game of chance. Ellen then said all she 
could to soothe and console him ; she persuaded him to take 
some rest, of which he was much in need, for his looks were 
haggard, and he seemed quite exhausted. He declared that he 
had not had a night's good sleep for many months, since he had 
got into these difficulties by gaming. His mind had been kept 
in a continual flurry, and he seemed as if he had been living in 
a fever. "The worst of it was, Ellen," said he, " I could not 
bear to see you or the boy when I had been losing ; so I went 
on, gaming deeper and deeper, in hopes of winning back what I 
had lost; and I now and then won, and they coaxed me and 
told me I was getting a run of luck, and it would be a sin to 
turn my back on good fortune. This way I was 'ticed to go on 
playing, till, when I betted higher and higher, my luck left me ; 
or, as I shrewdly suspect, the rascals did not play fair, and they 
won stake after stake, till they made me half mad, and I risked 
all I had left upon one throw, and lost it! And when I found 
I had lost all, and thought of coming home to you and our boy, 
I was ready to hang myself. Oh, Ellen, if you knew all I have 
felt! I would not live over again the last two years for this 
room full of gold !" 

Such are the miserable feelings, and such the life, of a 

Maurice slept for a few hours, or rather dozed, starting now 
and then, and talking of cards and dice, and sometimes grinding 
his teeth and clenching his hand, till he wakened himself by 
the violence with which he struck the side of the bed. 

" I have had a terrible dream, wife," said he, when he opened 
his eyes, and saw Ellen sitting beside him on the bed. At first 
he did not recollect what had really happened ; but as Ellen 
looked at him with sorrow and compassion in her countenance, 



he gradually remembered all the truth ; and, hiding his head 
under the bed-clothes, he.,said he wished he could sleep again, if 
it could be without dreaming such dreadful things. 

It was in vain that he tried to sleep ; so he got up, resolving 
to try whether he could borrow twenty guineas from any of his 
friends, to pay the most pressing of his gaming companions. 
The first person he asked was Mrs. Dolly : she fell into an 
hysteric fit when she heard of his losses ; and it was not till 
after she had swallowed a double dram of brandy that she was 
able to speak, and to tell him that she was the worst person in 
the world he could have applied to ; for that she was in the 
greatest distress herself, and all her dependance in this world was 
upon him. 

Maurice stood in silent astonishment. " Why, cousin," said 
he, " I thought, and always believed, that you had a power of 
money ! You know, when you came to live with us, you told me 

"No matter what I told you," said Mrs. Dolly. "Folks 
can't live upon air. Yesterday the landlady of the public-house 
at the bowling-green, whom I'm sure I looked upon as my 
friend, — but thei-e's no knowing one's friends, — sent me in a bill 
as long as my arm ; and the apothecary here has another 
against me worse again ; and the man at the livery-stables, for 
one-horse chays, and jobs that I'm sure I forgot ever having, 
comes and charges me the Lord knows what! and then the 
grocer for tea and sugar, which I have been giving to folks from 
whom I have got no thanks. And then I have an account with 
the linen-draper of I don't know how much ! but he has over- 
charged me, I know, scandalously, for my last three shawls. 
And then I have never paid for my set of tea china ; and half of 
the cups are broke, and the silver spoons, and I can't tell what 

In short, Mrs. Dolly, who had never kept any account of what 
she spent, had no idea how far she was getting into a tradesman's 
debt till his bill was brought home : and was in great astonish- 
ment to find, when all her bills were sent in, that she had spent 
four hundred and fifty pounds in her private expenses, drinking 
included, in the course of three years and eight months. She 
had now nothing left to live upon but one hundred pounds, so 



<hat she was more likely to be a burden to Maurice than any 
assistance. He, however, was determined to go to a friend, 
who had frequently offered to lend him any sum of money he 
might want, and who had often been his partner at the gaming- 

In his absence, Ellen and George began to take a list of all 
the furniture in the house, that it might be ready for a sale, and 
Mrs. Dolly sat in her arm-chair, weeping and wailing. 

" Oh ! laud ! laud ! that I should live to see all this ! " cried 
she. " Ah, lack-a-daisy ! lack-a-daisy ! lack-a-day ! what will 
become of me? Oh, la ! la! la! la!" Her lamentations were 
interrupted by a knock at the door. " Hark ! a knock, a double 
knock at the door," cried Mrs. Dolly. " Who is it? Ah, lack- 
a-day, when people come to know what has happened, it will be 
long enough before we have any more visitors ; long enough 
before we hear any more double knocks at the door. Oh, laud ! 
laud! See who it is, George." 

It was Mr. Belton, who was come to ask George to go with 
him and his little nephew to see some wild beasts at Exeter- 
'change : he was much surprised at the sorrowful faces of George 
and Ellen, whom he had always been used to see so cheerful, and 
inquired what misfortune had befallen them? Mrs. Dolly thought 
she could tell the story best, so she detailed the whole, with many 
piteous ejaculations; but the silent resignation of Ellen's counte- 
nance had much more effect upon Mr. Belton. "George," 
said he, " must stay to finish the inventory he is writing for his 

Mr. Belton was inquiring more particularly into the amount of 
Maurice's debts, and the names of the persons to whom he had 
lost his money at the gaming-table, when the unfortunate man 
himself came home. "No hope, Ellen!" cried he. "No 
hope from any of those rascals that I thought my friends. No 
hope ! " 

He stopped short, seeing a stranger in the room, for Mr. 
Bulton was a stranger to him. "My husband can tell you the 
names of all the people," said Ellen, " who have been the ruin of 
us." Mr. Belton then wrote them down from Maurice's infor- 
mation ; and learned from him that he had lost to these sharpers 
upwards of three thousand eight hundred pounds in the course of 

IS i 


three years; that the last night he played, he had staked tha 
goods in his shop, valued at 350/., and lost them ; that after- 
wards he staked the furniture of his house, valued at 160/. ; this 
also he lost ; and so left the gaming-table without a farthing in 
the world. 

" It is not my intention," said Mr. Belton, "to add to your 
present suffering, Mr. Robinson, by pointing out that it has 
arisen entirely from your own imprudence. Nor yet can I say 
that I feel much compassion for you ; for I have always con- 
sidered a gamester as a most selfish being, who should be suffered 
to feel the terrible consequences of his own avaricious folly, as a 
warning to others." 

"Oh, sir! Oh, Mr. Belton!" cried Ellen, bursting now, 
for the first time, into tears, " do not speak so harshly to Mau- 

"To you I shall not speak harshly," said Mr. Belton, his voice} 
and looks changing; "for I have the greatest compassion for 
such an excellent wife and mother. And I shall take care that 
neither you nor your son, whom you have taken such successful 
pains to educate, shall suffer by the folly and imprudence in 
which you had no share. As to the ready money which your 
husband has lost and paid to these sharpers, it is, I fear, irre- 
coverable ; but the goods in your shop, and the furniture in your 
house, I will take care shall not be touched. I will go imme- 
diately to my attorney, and direct him to inquire into the truth of 
all I have been told, and to prosecute these villains for keeping 
a gaming-table, and playing at unlawful games. Finish thaS 
inventory which you are making out, George, and give it to me ; 
I will have the furniture in your house, Ellen, valued by an 
appraiser, and will advance you money to the amount, on which 
you may continue to live in comfort and credit, trusting to your 
industry and integrity to repay me in small sums, as you find it 
convenient, out of the profits of your shop." 

"Oh, sir!" cried Maurice, clasping his hands with a strong 
expression of joy, " thank you ! thank you from the bottom of 
my soul ! Save her from misery, save the boy, and let me suffer 
as I ought for my folly." 

Mr. Belton, in. spite of his contempt for gamesters, was touched 
by Maurice's repentance ; but, keeping a steady countenance 



replied in a firm tone, " Suffering for folly does nobody anj 
good, unless it makes them wiser in future." 


Mrs. Dolly, who had been unaccountably awed to silence by 
Mr. Belton's manner of speaking and looking, broke forth the 
moment he had left the house. " Very genteel, indeed ; 
though lie might have taken more notice of me. See what 
it is, George, to have the luck of meeting with good friends." 

" See what it is to deserve good friends, George," said 

" You'll all remember, I hope," said Mrs. Dolly, raising her 
voice, " that it was I who was the first and foremost cause of all 
this, by taking George along with me to the tea-drinking at 
the bowling-green, where he first got acquainted with Mr. 

" Mr. Belton would never have troubled his head about such 
a little boy as George," said Ellen, " if it had not been for — ■ 
you know what I mean, Mrs. Dolly. All I wish to say is, that 
George's own good behaviour was the cause of our getting 
acquainted with this good friend." 

" And I am sure you were the cause, mother," said George, 
" of what you call my good behaviour." 

Mrs. Dolly, somewhat vexed at this turn, changed the con- 
vei*sation, saying, " Well, 'tis no matter how we made such a 
good acquaintance ; let us make the most of him, and drink his 
health, as becomes us, after dinner. And now, I suppose, all 
will go on as usual : none of our acquaintance in Paddington 
need know any thing of what has happened." 

Ellen, who was very little solicitous about what Mrs. Dolly's 
acquaintance in Paddington might think, observed that, so far 
from going on as usual, now they were living on borrowed 
money, it was fit they should retrench all their expenses, and 
give up the drawing-room and parlour of the house to lodgers. 
" So, then, we are to live like shabby wretches for the rest of 
our days!" cried Mrs. Dolly. 



" Better live like what we are, poor but industrious people," 
replied Ellen, " and then we shall never be forced to do any 
thing shabby." 

" Ay, Ellen, you are, as you always are, in the right ; and all 
I desire now, in this world, is to make up for the past, and to 
fall to work in some way or other ; for idleness was what first 
led me to the gaming-table." 

Mrs. Dolly opposed these good resolutions, and urged Mau- 
rice to send George to Mr. Belton, to beg him to lend them 
some more money. " Since he is in the humour to be generous, 
and since he has taken a fancy to us," said she, "why not 
take him at his word, and make punch whilst the water's hot?" 

But all that Mrs. Dolly said was lost upon Ellen, who de- 
clared that she would never be so mean as to encroach upon 
such a generous friend ; and Maurice protested that nothing 
that man, woman, or devil, could say, should persuade him to 
live in idleness another year. He sent George the next morning 
to Mr. Belton with a letter, requesting that he would procure 
employment for him, and stating what he thought himself fit for. 
Amongst other things, he mentioned that he could keep ac- 
counts. That he could write a good hand was evident, from his 
letter. Mr. Belton, at this time, wanted a clerk in his manu- 
factory ; and, upon Maurice's repeating his promise never more 
to frequent the gaming-table, Mr. Belton, after a trial, engaged 
him as his clerk, at a salary of 50^. per annum. 

Every thing now went on well for some months. Maurice, 
on whom his wife's kindness had made a deep impression, 
became thoroughly intent upon his business, and anxious to 
make her some amends for his past follies. His heart Avas now 
at ease: he came home, after his day's work at the counting- 
house, with an open, cheerful countenance ; and Ellen was per- 
fectly happy. They sold all the furniture that was too fine for 
their present way of life to the new lodgers, who took the 
drawing-room and front parlour of their house ; and lived on 
the profits of their shop, which, being well attended, was never 
in want of customers. 

One night, at about ten o'clock, as little George was sitting, 
reading the history of Sandford and Merton, in which he was 
much interested, he was roused by a loud knocking at the house 



door. He ran to open it : but how much was he shocked at the 
sight he beheld ! It was Mrs, Dolly ! her leg broken, and her 
skull fractured ! 

Ellen had her brought in, and laid upon a bed, and a surgeon 
was immediately sent for. When Maurice inquired how this 
terrible accident befel Mrs. Dolly, the account he received was, 
that she was riding home from the bowling-green public-house, 
much intoxicated ; that she insisted upon stopping to get a glass, 
of peppermint and brandy for her stomach ; that, seeing she 
had drunk too much already, every thing possible was done to 
prevent her from taking any more ; but she would not be ad- 
vised : she said she knew best what agreed with her constitution ; 
so she alighted and took the brandy and peppermint ; and when 
she was to get upon her horse again, not being in her right 
senses, she insisted upon climbing up by a gate that was on the 
road-side, instead of going, as she was advised, to a bank that 
was a little further on. The gate was not steady, the horse 
being pushed moved, she fell, broke her leg, and fractured her 

She was a most shocking spectacle when she was brought 
home. At first she was in great agony ; but she afterwards feil 
into a sort of stupor, and lay speechless. 

The surgeon arrived : he set her Leg ; and during this opei-ation, 
she came to her senses, but it was only the sensibility of pain. 
She was then trepanned ; but all was to no purpose — she died that 
night ; and of all the friends, as she called them, who used to 
partake in her tea-drinkings and merry-makings, not one said 
more when they heard of her death than " Ah, poor Mrs. Dolly ! 
she was always fond of a comfortable glass : 'twas a pity it was 
the death of her at last." 

Several tradesmen, to whom she died in debt, were very loud 
in their complaints ; and the landlady at the bowling-green did 
not spare her memory. She went so far as to say, that it tvas a 
shame such a drunken quean should have a Christia?i burial. 
What little clothes Mrs. Dolly left at her death were given up to 
her creditors. She had owed Maurice ten guineas ever since 
the first month of their coming to Paddington ; and when she 
was on her death-bed, during one of the intervals that she was 
in her senses, she beckoned to Maurice, and told him, in a voice 



scarcely intelligible, he would lind in her left-hand pocket what 
she hoped would pay him the ten guineas he had lent to her. 
However, upon searching this pocket, no money was to be 
found, except sixpence in halfpence ; nor was there any thing of 
value about her. They turned the pocket inside out, and shook 
it ; they opened every paper that came out of it, but these were 
all old bills. Ellen at last examined a new shawl which had 
been thrust into this pocket, and which was all crumpled up : 
she observed that one of the corners was doubled down, and 
pinned ; and upon taking out the yellow crooked pin, she 
discovered, under the corner of the shawl, a bit of paper, much 
soiled with snuff, and stained with liquor. " How it smells of 
brandy !" said Ellen, as she opened it. "What is it, Maurice?" 

" It is not a bank note. It is a lottery ticket, I do believe !" 
cried Maurice. "Ay, that it is! She put into the lottery 
without letting us know any thing of the matter. Well, as she 
said, perhaps this may pay me my ten guineas, and overpay me, 
who knows? We were lucky with our last ticket; and why 
should not we be as lucky with this, or luckier, hey, Ellen ? 
We might have ten thousand pounds or twenty thousand pounds 
this time, instead of five, why not, hey, Ellen?" But Maurice 
observing that Ellen looked grave, and was not much charmed 
with the lottery ticket, suddenly changed his tone, and said, 
" Now don't you, Ellen, go to think that my head will run on 
nothing but this here lottery ticket. It will make no difference 
on earth in me : I shall mind my business just as well as if there 
was no such thing, I promise you. If it come up a prize, well 
and good: and if it come up a blank, why well and good too. 
So do you keep the ticket, and I shall never think more about 
it, Ellen. Only, before you put it by, just let me look at the 
number. What makes you smile ?" 

" I smiled only because I think I know you better than you 
know yourself. But, perhaps, that should not make me smile," 
said Ellen : and she gave a deep sigh. 

" Now, wife, why will you sigh ? I can't bear to hear you 
sigh," said Maurice, angrily. " I tell you I know myself, and 
have a right to know myself, I say, a great deal better than you 
do ; and so none of your sighs, wife." 

Ellen rejoiced to see that his pride worked upon him in this 



manner ; and mildly told him she waz very glad to find he 
thought so much about her sighs. " Why," b?id Maurice, " you 
are not one of those wives that are always taunting and scolding 
their husbands ; and that's the reason, I take it, why & look or a 
word from you goes so far with me." He paused for a few 
moments, keeping his eyes fixed upon the lottery ticket ; then, 
snatching it up, he continued : " This lottery ticket may tempt 
me to game again: for, as William Deane said, putting into the 
lottery is gaming, and the worst sort of gaming. So, Ellen, I'll 
show you that though I was a fool once, I'll never be a fool 
again. All your goodness was not thrown away upon me. I'll 
go and sell this lottery ticket immediately at the office, for 
whatever it is worth : and you'll give me a kiss when I come 
home again, I know, Ellen." 

Maurice, pleased with his own resolution, went directly to the 
lottery office to sell his ticket. He was obliged to wait some 
time, for the place was crowded with persons who came to 
inquire after tickets which they had insured. 

Many of these ignorant imprudent poor people had hazarded 
guinea after guinea, till they found themselves overwhelmed 
with debt ; and their liberty, character, and existence, depending 
on the turning of the wheel. What anxious faces did Maurice 
behold ! How many he heard, as they went out of the office, 
curse their folly for having put into the lottery ! 

He pressed forward to sell his ticket. How rejoiced he was 
when he had parted with this dangerous temptation, and when 
he had received seventeen guineas in hand, instead of anxious 
hopes ! How different were his feelings at this instant from 
those of many that were near him ! He stood to contemplate 
the scene. Here he saw a poor maid-servant, with scarcely 
clothes to cover her, who was sti-etching her thin neck across the 
counter, and asking the clerk, in a voice of agony, whether her 
ticket, number 45, was come up yet. 

" Number 45 V* answered the clerk, with the most careless 
air imaginable. "Yes " (turning over the leaves of his book) : 
" Number 45, you say — Yes: it was drawn yesterday — a blank." 
The wretched woman clasped her hands, and burst into tears, 
exclaiming, "Then I'm undone!" 

Nobody seemed to have time to attend to her. A man servant, 



in livery, pushed her away, saying, " You have your answer, 
and have no more business here, stopping the way. Pray, sir, 
is number 335. <be ticket I've insured 1 so high, come up to- 
day ?" 

" Yes, sir — blank." At the word blank, the disappointed 
footman poured forth a volley of oaths, declaring that he should 
be in jail before night; to all which the lottery-office keeper 
only answered, " I can't help it, sir; I can't help it. It is not 
my fault. Nobody is forced to put into the lottery, sir. No- 
body's obliged to insure, sir. 'Twas your own choice, sir. 
Don't blame me." 

Meanwhile, a person behind the footman, repeating the words 
he had addressed to the poor woman, cried, " You have your 
answer, sir; don't stop the way." 

Maurice was particularly struck with the agitated countenance 
of one man, who seemed as if the suspense of his mind had 
entirely bereaved him of all recollection. When he was pressed 
forward by the crowd, and found himself opposite to the clerk, 
he was asked twice, "What's your business, sir?" before he 
could speak ; and then could only utter the words — number 7 I 
"Still in the wheel," was the answer. "Our messenger is not 
yet returned from Guildhall, with news of what has been drawn 
this last hour. If you will call again at three, we can answer you." 
The man seemed to feel this as a reprieve ; but as he was re- 
tiring, there came one with a slip of paper in his hand. This 
was the messenger from Guildhall, who handed the paper to the 
clerk. He read aloud, " Number 7. Were you not inquiring 
for 7, sir?" 

"Yes," said the pale trembling man. 

"Number 7 is just come up, sir, — a blank." 

At the fatal word blank, the man fell flat upon his face in 
a. swoon. Those near him lifted him out into the street, for air. 

" Here, sir ; you are going without your change, after wait- 
ing for it so long," cried the clerk to Maurice; who, touched 
with compassion for the man who had just fallen, was following 
those who were carrying him out. When he got into the street, 

1 This was written before the act of parliament against insuring in 



Maurice saw the poor creature sitting on a stone, supported by a 
hackney-coachman, who held some vinegar to his nose, at the 
same time asking him if he did not want a coach ? 

"A coach! Oh, no," said the man, as he opened his eyes. 
" I have not a farthing of money in the world." The hackney- 
coachman swore that was a sad case, and ran across the street 
to offer his services where they could he paid for : " A coach, if 
you want one, sir. Heavy rain coming on," said he, looking at 
the silver which he saw through the half-closed fingers of 
Maurice's hand. 

" Yes, I want a coach," said Maurice : and hade the coach- 
man draw up to the stone, where the poor man who had swooned 
was sitting. Maurice was really a good-natured fellow ; and he 
had peculiar pity for the anguish this man seemed to feel, 
because he recollected what he had suffered himself, when he 
had been ruined at the gaming-table. 

" You are not able to walk : here is a coach ; I will go your 
way and set you down, sir," said Maurice. 

The unfortunate man accepted this offer. As they went 
along he sighed bitterly, and once said, with great vehemence, 
" Curse these lotteries! Curse these lotteries!" Maurice now 
rejoiced, more than ever, at having conquered his propensity to 
gaming, and at having sold his ticket. 

When they came opposite to a hosier's shop, in Oxford-street, 
the stranger thanked him, and desired to be set down. " This 
is my home," said he; "or this was my home, I ought to say," 
pointing to his shop as he let down the coach-glass. "A sad 
warning example I am ! But I am troubling you, sir, with 
what no way concerns you. I thank you, sir, for your civility," 
added he, turning away from Maurice, to hide the tears which 
stood in his eyes : "good day to you." 

He then prepared to get out of the coach ; but whilst the 
coachman was letting down the step, a gentleman came out of 
the hosier's shop to the door, and cried, " Mr. Fulhani, J am 
glad you are come at last. I have been waiting for you this 
half-hour, and was just going awav." Maurice pulled aside the 
flap of the hosier's coat, as he was getting out, that he might 
peep at the gentleman who spoke ; the voice was so like William 



Deane's, that he was quite astonished. — " It is — it is William 
Deane," cried Maurice, jumping out of the coach and shaking 
hands with his friend. 

William Deane, though now higher in the world than Robin- 
son, was heartily glad to see him again, and to renew their old 
intimacy. "Mr. Fulham," said he, turning to the hosier, "ex- 
cuse me to-day; I'll come and settle accounts with you to- 

On their way to Paddington, Maurice related to his friend all 
that had passed since they parted; how his good luck in the 
lottery tempted him to try his fortune at the gaming-tahle ; how 
he was cheated by sharpers, and reduced to the brink of utter 
ruin; how kind Ellen was towards him in this distress; how he 
was relieved by Mr. Belton, who was induced to assist him from 
regard to Ellen and little George ; how Mrs. Dolly drank her- 
self into ill health, which would soon have killed her if she had 
not, in a drunken fit, shortened the business by fracturing her 
skull ; and, lastly, how she left him a lottery ticket, which he 
had just sold, lest it should be the cause of fresh imprudence. 
" You see," added Maurice, " I do not forget all you said to me 
about lotteries. — Better take good advice late than never. But 
now, tell me your history." 

" No," replied William Deane; "that I shall keep till we 
are all at dinner ; Ellen and you, I and my friend George, who, 
I hope, has not forgotten me." He was soon convinced that 
George had not forgotten him, by the joy he showed at seeing 
him again. 

At dinner, William Deane informed them that he was become 
a rich man, by having made an improvement in the machinery 
of the cotton-mills, which, after a great deal of perseverance, he 
had brought to succeed in practice. " When I say that I am a 
rich man," continued he, "I mean richer than ever I expected 
to be. I have a share in the cotton-mill, and am worth about 
two thousand pounds." 

" Ay," said Maurice, " you have trusted to your own sense 
and industry, and not to gaming and lotteries." 

" I am heartily rejoiced you have nothing more to do with 
them," said William Deane : "but all this time you forget that 



I am your debtor. You lent me five guineas at a season when 
I had nothing. The books I bought with your money helped 
me to knowledge, without which I should never have got for- 
ward. Now I have a scheme for my little friend George, that 
will, I hope, turn out to your liking. You say he is an intel- 
ligent, honest, industrious lad; and that he understands book- 
keeping, and writes a good hand : I am sure he is much obliged 
to you for giving him a good education." 

" To his mother, there, he's obliged for it all," said Maurice. 

" Without it," continued William Deane, "I might wish him 
very well ; but I could do little or nothing for him. But, as I 
was going to tell you, that unfortunate man whom you brought 
to his own door in the hackney-coach to-day, Maurice, is a 
hosier, who had as good a business as most in the city ; but he 
has ruined himself entirely by gaming. He is considerably in 
our debt for cotton, and I am to settle accounts with him to- 
morrow, when he is to give up all his concerns into my hands, in 
behalf of his brother, who has commissioned me to manage the 
business, and dissolve the partnership ; as he cannot hazard 
himself, even out of friendship for a brother, with one that has 
taken to gaming. Now my friend, the elder Fulham, is a steady 
man, and is in want of a good lad for an apprentice. With your 
leave, I will speak to him, and get him. to take George ; and as 
to the fee, I will take care and settle that for you. I am glad I 
have found you all out at last. No thanks, pray. Recollect, I 
am only paying my old debts." 

As William Deane desired to have no thanks, we shall omit 
the recital of those which he received, both in* words and looks. 
We have only to inform our readers, further, that George was 
bound apprentice to the hosier ; that he behaved as well as 
might be expected from his excellent education; that Maurice 
continued, in Mr. Belton's service, to conduct himself so as to 
secure the confidence and esteem of his master ; and that he 
grew fonder and fonder of home, and of Ellen, who enjoyed the 
delightful reflection that she had effected the happiness of her 
husband and her son. 

May equal happiness attend every such good wife and mother ! 
And may every man, who, like Maurice, is tempted to be a 

Popular Tales. o 



gamester ; reflect that a good character, and domestic happiness, 
which cannot be won in any lottery, are worth more than the 
five thousand, or even the ten thousand pounds prize, let any 
Mrs. Dolly in Christendom say what she will to the contrary. 

Sept. 1799. 



There are two sorts of content: one is connected with exertion, 
the other with habits of indolence ; the first is a virtue, the 
second a vice. Examples of both may be found in abundance 
in Ireland. There you may sometimes see a man in sound 
health submitting day after day to evils which a few hours' 
labour would remedy ; and you are provoked to hear him say, 
"It will do well enough for me. Didn't it do for my father 
before me 1 I can make a shift with things for my time : any 
how, I'm content." 

This kind of content is indeed the bane of industry. But 
instances of a different sort may be found, in various of the Irish 
peasantry. Amongst them we may behold men struggling with 
adversity with all the strongest powers of mind and body ; and 
supporting irremediable evils with a degree of cheerful fortitude 
which must excite at once our pity and admiration. 

In a pleasant village in the province of Leinster there lives 
a family of the name of Gray. Whether or not they are any 
way related to Old Robin Gray, history does not determine ; 
but it is very possible that they are, because they came, it is 
said, originally from the north of Ireland, and one of the sons is 
actually called Robin. Leaving this point, however, in the 
obscurity which involves the early history of the most ancient 
and illustrious families, we proceed to less disputable and per- 
haps more useful facts. It is well known, that is, by all his 
neighbours, that farmer Gray began life with no very encou- 
raging prospects : he was the youngest of a large family, and 
the portion of his father's property that fell to his share was but 
just sufficient to maintain his wife and three children. At his 
father's death, he had but 100/. in ready money, and he was 
o 2 



obliged to go into a poor mud-walled cabin, facing the door of 
which there was a green pool of stagnant water ; and before the 
window, of one pane, a dunghill that, reaching to the thatch of 
the roof, shut out the light, and filled the house with the most 
noisome smell. The ground sloped towards the house door ; so 
that in rainy weather, when the pond was full, the kitchen was 
overflowed; and at all times the floor was so damp and soft, that 
the print of the nails of brogues was left in it wherever the 
wearer set down his foot. To be sure these nail-marks could 
scarcely be seen, except just near the door or where the light of 
the fire immediately shone ; because, elsewhere, the smoke was 
so thick, that the pig might have been within a foot of yon 
without your seeing him. The former inhabitants of this man- 
sion had, it seems, been content without a chimney : and, in- 
deed, almost without a roof ; the couples and purlins of the roof 
having once given way, had never been repaired, and swagged 
down by the weight of the thatch, so that the ends threatened 
the wigs of the unwary. 

The prospect without doors was scarcely more encouraging 
to our hero than the scene within : the farm consisted of about 
forty acres ; and the fences of the grazing-land were so bad, 
that the neighbours' cattle took possession of it frequently by 
day, and always by night. The tillage-ground had been so ill 
managed by his predecessor, that the land was what is called 
quite out of heart. 

If farmer Gray had also been out of heart, he and his family 
might at this hour have been beggars. His situation was thought 
desperate by many of his neighbours; and a few days after his 
father's decease, many came to condole with him. Amongst 
the rest was ''easy Simon;" or, as some called him, "soft 
Simon," on account of his unresisting disposition, and contented, 
or, as we should rather name it, reckless temper. He was a 
sort of a half or a half quarter gentleman, had a small patrimony 
of a hundred or a hundred and fifty pounds a year, a place in 
the excise worth fifty more, and a mill, which might have been 
worth another hundred annually, had it not been suffered to 
stand still for many a year. 

" Wheugh ! Wheugh ! What a bustle we are in ! and what 
a world of trouble is here!" cried Simon, when he came to 



Gray's house, and found him on the Is/Her taking off the 
decayed thatch ; whilst one of his sons, a lad of about fourteen, 
was hard at work filling a cart from the dunghill, which 
blockaded the window. His youngest son, a boy of twelve, 
with a face and neck red with heat, was making a drain to carry 
off the water from the green pond ; and Rose, the sister, a girl 
of ten years old, was collecting the ducks, which her mother was 
going to carry to her landlord's to sell. 

" Wheugh ! Wheugh ! Wheugh ! Why what a world of 
bustle and trouble is here ! Troth, Jemmy Gray, you re in a 
bad way, sure enough! Poor craturl Poor cratur!" 

" No man," replied Gray, "deserves to be called poor, that 
has his health, and the use of his limbs. Besides," continued 
he, " have not I a good wife and good children : and, with 
those blessings, has not a man sufficient reason to be content?" 

" Ay, to be sure : that's the only way to get through this 
world," said Simon; " whatever comes, just to take it easy, and 
be content. Content and a warm chimney corner is all in all, 
according to my notion." 

" Yes, Simon," said Gray, laughing ; " but your kind of con- 
tent would never do for me. Content, that sits down in the 
chimney corner, and does nothing but smoke his pipe, will soon 
have the house about his ears; and then what will become of 

" Time enough to think of that when it comes," said Simon : 
" fretting never propped a house yet ; and if it did, I would 
rather see it fall than fret." 

" But could not you prop the house," said Gray, "without 

"Is it by putting my shoulders to it?" said Simon. "My 
shoulders have never been used to hard work, and don't like it 
any way. As long as I can eat, drink, and sleep, and have a 
coat to my back, what matter for the rest? Let the world go as 
it will, I'm content. Shoo ! Shoo ! The button is off the neck 
of this great coat of mine, and how will I keep it on ? A pin 
sure will do as well as a button, and better. Mrs. Gray, or Miss 
Rose, I II thank you kindly for a pin." 

He stuck the pin in the place of the button, to fasten the 
great coat round his throat, and walked off: it pricked his chin 



about a dozen times before the day was over; but he forgot the- 
next day, and the next, and the next, to have the button sewed 
on. He was content to make shift, as he called it, with the pin. 
This is precisely the species of content which leads to beggary. 

Not such the temper of our friend Gray. Not an incon- 
venience that he could remedy, by industry or ingenuity, was 
he content to endure ; but necessary evils he bore with unshaken 
patience and fortitude. His house was soon new roofed and new 
thatched ; the dunghill was removed, and spread over that part 
of his land which most wanted manure ; the putrescent water of 
the standing pool was drained off, and fertilized a meadow ; and 
the kitchen was never again overflowed in rainy weather, 
because the labour of half a day made a narrow trench which 
carried off the water. The prints of the shoe-nails were no 
longer visible in the floor ; for the two boys trod dry mill seeds 
into the clay, and beat the floor well, till they rendered it quite 
hard and even. The rooms also were cleared of smoke, for Gray 
built a chimney ; and the kitchen window, which had formerly 
been stuffed up, when the wind blew too hard, with an old or 
new hat, was glazed. There was now light in the house. 
Light ! the great friend of cleanliness and order. The pig could 
now no longer walk in and out, unseen and unreproved ; he 
ceased to be an inmate of the kitchen. 

The kitchen was indeed so altered from what it had been 
during the reign of the last master, that he did not know it 
again. It was not in the least like a pig-sty. The walls were 
whitewashed ; and shelves were put up, on which clean wooden 
and pewter utensils were ranged. There were no heaps of 
forlorn rubbish in the corners of the room ; nor even an old 
basket, or a blanket, or a cloak, or a great coat thrown down, 
just for a minute, out of the girl's way. No : Rose was a girl 
who always put every thing in its place ; and she found it 
almost as easy to hang a coat, or a cloak, upon a peg, as to 
throw it down on the floor. She thought it as convenient to put 
the basket and turf-kish out of her way, when her brothers had 
brought in the potatoes and fuel, as to let them lie in the middle 
of the kitchen, to be stumbled over by herself and her mother, 
or to be gnawed and clawed by a cat and dog. These may seem 
trifles unworthy the notice of the historian ; but trifles such as 



these contribute much to the comfort of a poor family, and 
therefore deserve a place in their simple annals. 

It was a matter of surprise and censure to some of farmer 
Gray's neighbours, that he began by laying out it could not 
be less than ten pounds (a great sum for him !) on his house 
and garden at the first setting out ; when, to be sure, the land 
would have paid him better if the money had been laid out 
there. And why could not he make a shift to live on in the old 
cabin, for a while, as others had done before his time well 
enough ? A poor man should be contented with a poor house. 
Where was the use, said they, of laying out the good ready 
penny in a way that would bring nothing in ? 

Farmer Gray calculated that he could not have laid out his 
money to better advantage ; for by these ten pounds he had 
probably saved his wife, his children, and himself, from a putrid 
fever, or from the rheumatism. The former inhabitants of this 
house, who had been content to live with the dunghill close to 
the window, and the green pool overflowing the kitchen, and 
the sharp wind blowing in through the broken panes, had in the 
course of a few years lost their health. The father of the family 
had been crippled by the rheumatism, two children died of the 
fever, and the mother had such an inflammation in her eyes that 
she could not see to work, spin, or do anything. Now the whole 
that was lost by the family sickness, the doctor's bill, and the bury- 
ing of the two children, all together, came in three years to nearly 
three times ten pounds. Therefore Mr. Gray was, if we only 
consider money, a very prudent man. What could he or any 
body do without health? Money is not the first thing to be 
thought of in this woi-ld ; for there are many things that money 
cannot buy, and health is one of them. " Health can make 
money, but money cannot make health," said our wise farmer. 
" And then, for the value of a few shillings, say pounds, we have 
light to see what we are doing, and shelves, and a press to hold 
our clothes in. Why now, this will be all so much saved to us, 
by and by ; for the clothes will last the longer, and the things 
about us will not go to wreck ; and when I and the boys can 
come home after our day's work to a house like this, we may be 

Having thus ensured, as far as it was in his power, health, 



cleanliness, and comfort in his house, onr hero and his sons 
turned their attention to the farm. They set about to repair all 
the fences ; for the boys, though they were young, were able to 
help their father in the farm : they were willing to work, and 
happy to work with him. John, the eldest lad, could set 
potatoes, and Robin was able to hold the plough : so that Gray 
did not hire any servant-boy to help him ; nor did Mrs. Gray 
hire a maid. " Rose and I," said she, " can manage very well 
to look after the two cows, and milk them, and make the butter, 
and get something too by our spinning. We must do without 
servants, and may be happy and content to serve ourselves." 

"Times will grow better; that is, we shall make them better 
every year, we must have the roughest first," said Gray. 

The first year, to be sure, it was rough enough ; and, do what 
they could, they could not do more than make the rent of the 
farm, which rent amounted to forty pounds. The landlord was 
a Mr. Hopkins, agent to a gentleman who resided in England. 
Mr. Hopkins insisted upon having the rent paid up to the day, 
and so it was. Gray contented himself by thinking that this 
was perhaps for the best. " When the rent is once paid," said 
he, " it cannot be called for again, and I am in no man's power ; 
that's a great comfort. To be sure, if the half year's rent was 
left in my hands for a few months, it might have been of service : 
but it is better not to be under an obligation to such a man as 
Mr. Hopkins, who would make us pay for it in some shape or 
other, when we least expected it." 

Mr. Hopkins was what is called in Ireland a middle-man ; 
one that takes land from great proprietors, to set it again at an 
advanced, and often an exorbitant, price, to the poor. Gray had 
his land at a fair rent, because it was not from Mr. Hopkins his 
father had taken the lease, but from the gentleman to whom this 
man was agent. Mr. Hopkins designed to buy the land which 
Gray farmed, and he therefore wished to make it appear as un- 
profitable as possible to his landlord, who, living in England, 
knew but little of his own estate. " If these Grays don't pay the 
rent," said he to his driver, "pound their cattle, and sell at the 
end of eight days. If they break and run away, I shall have the 
land clear, and may make a compliment of it to tenants and 
friends cf my own, after it comes into my hands." 



He was rather disappointed, when the rent was paid to the 
day. "But," said he, "it won't be so next year; the man is 
laying out his money on the ground, on draining and fencing, 
and that won't pay suddenly. We'll leave the rent in his hands 
for a year or so, and bring down an ejectment upon him, if he 
once gets into our power, as he surely will. Then, all that he 
has done to the house will be so much in my way. What a fool 
he was to lay out his money so ! " 

It happened, howevei', that the money which Gray had laid 
out in making his house comfortable and neat was of the greatest 
advantage to him, and at a time and in a way which he least 
expected. His cottage was within sight of the high road, that 
led to a town from which it was about a mile distant. A regi- 
ment of English arrived, to be quartered in the town ; and the 
wives of some of the soldiers came a few hours after their 
husbands. One of these women, a sergeant's wife, was taken 
suddenly in labour, before they reached the town ; and the 
soldier who conducted the baggage-cart in which she was, drew 
up to the first amongst a row of miserable cabins that were by 
the road-side, to ask the people if they would give her lodging: 
but the sick woman was shocked at the sight of the smoke and 
dirt of this cabin, and begged to be carried on to the neat white- 
washed cottage that she saw at a little distance. This was Gray's 

His wife received the stranger with the greatest kindness and 
hospitality ; she was able to offer her a neat bed, and a room that 
was perfectly dry and clean. The sergeant's wife was brought to 
bed soon after her arrival, and remained with Mrs. Gray till she 
recovered her strength. She was grateful for the kindness that 
was shown to her by Mrs. Gray ; and so was her husband, the 
sergeant. He came one evening to the cottage, and in his blunt 
English fashion said, " Mr. Gray, you know I, or my wife, which 
is the same thing, have cause to be obliged to you, or your wife, 
which comes also to the same thing : now one good turn deserves 
another. Our colonel has ordered me, I being quarter-master, 
to sell off by auction some of the cast horses belonging to the 
regiment : now I have bought in the best for a trifle, and have 
brought him here, with me, to beg you'll accept of him, by way 



of some sort of a return for the civilities you and your wife, that 
being, as I said, the same thing, showed me and mine." 

Gray replied he was obliged to him for this offer of the horse, 
but that he could not think of accepting it ; that he was very 
glad his wife had been able to show any kindness or hospitality 
to a stranger ; but that, as they did not keep a public-house, 
they could not take any thing in the way of payment. 

The sergeant was more and more pleased by farmer Gray's 
generosity. "Well," said he, "I heard, before I came to 
Ireland, that the Irish were the most hospitable people on the 
face of the earth ; and so I find it come true, and I shall always 
say so, wherever I'm quartered hereafter. And now do pray 
answer me, is there any the least thing I can ever do to oblige 
you? for, if the truth must be told of me, I don't like to lie 
under an obligation, any more than another, where I can help 

" To show you that I do not want to lay you under one," said 
Gray, "I'll tell you how you can do as much for me, and ten 
times as much, as I have done for you ; and this without hurting 
yourself or any of your employers a penny." 

" Say how, and it shall be done." 

" By letting me have the dung of the barracks, which will 
make my land and me rich, without making you poorer; for I'll 
give you the fair price, whatever it is. I don't ask you to wrong 
your employers of a farthing." 

The sergeant promised this should be done, and rejoiced that 
he had found some means of serving his friend. Gray covered 
ten acres with the manure brought from the barracks ; and the 
next year these acres were in excellent heart. This was sufficient 
for the grazing of ten cows : he had three, and he bought seven 
more ; and with what remained of his hundred pounds, after 
paying for the cows, he built a shed and a cow-house. His wife, 
and daughter Rose, who was now about fourteen, were excellent 
managers of the dairy. They made, by butter and butter-milk, 
about four pounds each cow within the year. The butter they 
salted and took to market, at the neighbouring town ; the butter- 
milk they sold to the country people, who, according to the 
custom of the neighbourhood, came to the house for it. 



Besides this, they reared five calves, which, at a year old, they 
sold for fifteen guineas and a half. The dairy did not, however, 
employ all the time of this industrious mother and daughter ; 
they had time for spinning, and hy this cleared six guineas. 
They also made some little matter by poultry ; but that was only 
during the first year : afterwards Mr. Hopkins sent notice that 
they must pay all the duty-fowl, and duty-geese, and turkeys 
charged in the lease, or compound with him by paying two 
guineas a year. This gentleman had many methods of squeezing 
money out of poor tenants ; and he was not inclined to spare the 
Grays, whose farm he i*ow more than ever wished to possess, 
because its value had been considerably increased, by the judi- 
cious industry of the farmer and his sons. 

Young as they were, both farmer Gray's sons had a share in 
these improvements. The eldest had drained a small field, 
which used to be called the rushy field, from its having been 
quite covered with rushes. Now there was not a rush to be 
found upon it, and his father gave him the profits of the field, and 
said that it should be called by his name. Robin, the youngest 
son, had, by his father's advice, tried a little experiment, which 
many of his neighbours ridiculed at first, and admired at last. 
The spi-ing, which used to supply the duck-pond, that often 
flooded the house, was at the head of a meadow, that sloped 
with a fall sufficient to let the water run off. Robin flooded the 
meadow at the proper season of the year, and it produced 
afterwards a crop such as never had been seen there before. 
His father called this meadow Robin's meadow, and gave him 
the value of the hay that was made upon it. 

" Now, my dear boys," said this good father, "you have made 
a few guineas for yourselves ; and here are a few more for you, 
all that I can spare : let us see what you can do with this money. 
I shall take a pride in seeing you get forward by your own 
industry and cleverness ; I don't want you to slave for me all 
your best days ; but shall always be ready, as a father should 
be, to give you a helping hand." 

The sons had scarcely a word in answer to this, for their hearts 

1 Sec a very curious anecdote in the Statistical Survey of the Quecn'i 



were full ; but that night, when they were by themselves, one 
said to the other, " Brother, did you see Jack Reel's letter to his 
father ? They say he has sent home ten guineas to him. Is 
there any truth in it, think you?" 

" Yes ; I saw the letter, and a kinder never was written from 
son to father 2 . The ten guineas I saw paid into the old man's 
hand ; and, at that same minute, I wished it was I that was 
doing the same by my own father." 

" That was just what I was thinking of, when I asked you if 
you saw the letter. Why, Jack Reel had nothing, when he 
went abroad with the army to Egypt, last year. Well, I never 
had a liking myself to follow the drum : but it's almost enough 
to tempt one to it. If I thought I could send home ten guineas 
to rny father, I would 'list to-morrow." 

"That would not be well done of you, Robin," said John ; 
" for my father would rather have you, a great deal, than the 
ten guineas, I am sure : to say nothing of my poor mother, and 
Rose, and myself, who would be sorry enough to hear of your 
being knocked on the head, as is the fate, sooner or later, of 
them that follow the army. I would rather be any of the trades 
that hurt nobody, and do good to a many along with myself, as 
father said t'other day. Then, what a man makes so, he makes 
with a safe conscience, and he can enjoy it." 

"You are right, John, and I was wrong to talk of 'listing," 
said Robin ; " but it was only Jack Reel's letter, and the ten 
guineas sent to his father, that put it into my head. I may make 
as much for my father by staying at home, and minding my 
business. So now, good night to you ; I'll go to sleep, and we 
can talk more about it all to-morrow." 

The next morning, as these two youths were setting potatoes 
for the family, and considering to what they should turn their 
hands when the potatoes were all set, they were interrupted by 
a little gossoon, who came running up as hard as he could, cry- 
ing, " Murder ! murder ! Simon O' Dougherty wants you. For 
the love of God, cross the bog in all haste, to help pull out his 
horse, that has tumbled into the old tan-pit, there beyond, in the 

2 Tins is fact. 



The two brothers immediately followed the boy, carrying with 
them a rope and a halter, as they guessed that soft Simon would 
not have either. They found him wringing his hands beside the 
tan-pit, in which his horse lay smothering. A little ragged boy 
was tugging at the horse's head, with a short bit of hay-rope. 
" Oh, murder! murder ! What will I do for a halter? Sure the 
horse will be lost, for want of a halter ; and where in the wide 
world will I look for one?" cried Simon, without stirring one 
inch from the spot. " Oh, the blessing of Heaven be with you, 
lads," continued he, turning at the sight of the Grays ; " you've 
brought us a halter. But see ! it's just over with the poor beast. 
All the world put together will not get him alive out of that. I 
must put up with the loss, and be content. He cost me fifteen 
good guineas, and he could leap better than any horse in the 
county. Oh, what a pity on him ! what a pity ! But, take it 
easy; that's all we have for it ! Poor cratur ! Poor cratur /" 

Without listening to Simon's lamentations, the active lads, by 
the help of Simon and the two boys, pulled the horse out of the 
pit. The poor animal was nearly exhausted by struggling : but, 
after some time, he stretched himself, and, by degrees, recovered 
sufficiently to stand. One of his legs, however, was so much 
hurt that he could scarcely walk ; and Simon said he would 
surely go lame for life. 

"Who now would ever have thought of his straying into such 
an ugly place of all others?" continued he. "I know, for my 
share, the spot is so overgrown with grass and rubbish, 
of one kind or other, and it's so long since any of the tan- 
ning business was going on here, in my uncle O'Haggarty's 
time, that I quite forgot there were such things as tan- 
pits, or any manner of pits, in my possession ; and I wish these 
had been far enough off before my own little famous Sir Hyacinth 
O'Brien had strayed into them, laming himself for life, like a 
blockhead. For the case was this : I came home late last night, 
not as sober as a judge, and, finding no one up but the girl, I 
gave her the horse to put into the stable, and she forgot the door 
after her, which wants a lock ; and there being but a scanty feed 
of oats, owing to the boy's negligence, and no halter to secure 
the beast, my poor Sir Hyacinth strayed out here, as ill luck 
would have it, into the tan-pit. Bad luck to my uncle O'llag- 



gavty, that had the tan-ynrd here at all! He might have lived 
as became him, without dirtying his hands with the tanning of 
dirty hides." 

" I was just going," said John Gray, " to comfort you, Simon, 
for the laming of your horse, by observing that, if you had your 
tan-yard in order again, you could soon make up the price of 
another horse." 

" Ohoo! I would not be bothered with anything of the kind. 
There's the mill of Rosanna there, beyond, was the plague of 
my life, till it stopped ; and I was glad to have fairly done with 
it. Them that come after me may set it a-going again, and 
welcome. I have enough just to serve my time, and am content 
any way." 

" But, if you could get a fair rent for the tan-yard, would you 
let it?" said John. 

" To that I should make no objection in life ; provided I had 
no trouble with it," replied Simon. 

" And if you could get somebody to keep the mill of Rosanna 
going, without giving you any trouble, you would not object to 
that, would you?" said Robin. 

"Not I, to be sure," replied Simon, laughing. "Whatever 
God sends, be it more or less, I am content. But I would not 
have you think me a fool, for all I talk so easy about the matter ; 
I know very well what I might have got for the mill some years 
ago, when first it stopped, if I would have let it to the man that 
proposed for it; but though he was as substantial a tenant as 
you could see, yet he affronted me once, at the last election, by 
calling a freeholder of mine over the coals ; and so I was proud 
of an opportunity to show him I did not forget. So I refused to 
let him the mill on any terms ; and I made him a speech for his 
pride to digest at the same time. 'Mr. Hopkins,' said I, 'the 
lands of Rosanna have been in my family these two hundred 
years and upwards ; and though, now-a-days, many men think 
that every thing is to be done for money, and though you, Mr. 
Hopkins, have made as much money as most men could in the 
same time, — all which I don't envy you, — yet I must make bold 
to tell you, that the lands of Rosanna, or any part or parcel 
thereof, is what you'll never have whilst I'm alive, Mr. Hopkins, 
for love or money.' The spirit of the O'Doughertys was up 



within me ; and though all the world calls me easy Simon, .. 
have my own share of proper spirit. These mushroom money- 
makers, that start up from the very dirt under one's feet, I can' 
for my part swallow them. Now I should be happy to give yc 
a lease of the mill of Rosanna, after refusing Hopkins ; for yoc. 
and your father before you, lads, have been always very civil to 
me. My tan-pits and all I am ready to talk to you about, and 
thank you for pulling my horse out for me this morning. Will 
you walk up and look at the mill ? I would attend you myself, 
but must go to the farrier about Sir Hyacinth's leg, instead of 
standing talking here any longer. Good morning to you kindly. 
The girl will give you the key of the mill, and show you every- 
thing, the same as myself." 

Simon gathered his great coat about him, and walked away 
to the farrier, whilst the two brothers rejoiced that they should 
see the mill without hearing him talk the whole time. Simon, 
having nothing to do all day long but to talk, was an indefati- 
gable gossip. When the lands of Rosanna were in question, or 
when his pride was touched, he was terribly fluent. 


Upon examining the mill, which was a common oat-mill, John 
Gray found that the upper mill-stone was lodged upon the 
lower ; and that this was all which prevented the mill from 
going. No other part of it was damaged or out of repair. As 
to the tan-yard, it was in great disorder ; but it was very con- 
veniently situated ; was abundantly supplied with water on ona 
side, and had an oak copse at the back, so that tan could readily 
be procured. It is true that the bark of these oak trees, which 
had been planted by his careful uncle O'Haggarty, had been 
much damaged since Simon came into possession ; for he had, 
with his customary negligence, suffered cattle to get amongst 
them. He had also, to supply himself with ready money, occa- 
sionally cut down a great deal of the best timber before it 
arrived at its full growth ; and at this time the Grays found 



every tree of tolerable size marked for destruction with the ini- 
tials of Simon O'Dougherty's name. 

Before they said anything more about the mill or the tan-yard 
to Simon, these prudent brothers consulted their father : he 
advised them to begin cautiously, by offering to manage the 
mill and the tan-yard, during the ensuing season, for Simon, for 
a certain share in the profits ; and then, if they should find the 
business likely to succeed, they might take a lease of the whole. 
Simon willingly made this agreement ; and there was no danger 
in dealing with him, because, though careless and indolent, he 
was honest, and would keep his engagements. It was settled 
that John and Robin should have the power, at the end of the 
year, either to hold or give up all concern in the mill and tan- 
yard ; and, in the mean time, they were to manage the business 
for Simon, and to have such a share in the profits as would pay 
them reasonably for their time and labour. 

They succeeded beyond their expectations in the manage- 
ment of the mill and tan-yard dimng their year of probation ; 
and Simon, at the end of that time, was extremely glad to give 
them a long lease of the premises, upon their paying him down, 
by way of fine, the sum of 150/. This sum their father, who 
had good credit, and who could give excellent security upon his 
farm, which was now in a flourishing condition, raised for them; 
and they determined to repay him the money by regular yearly 
portions out of their profits. 

Success did not render these young men presumptuous or neg- 
ligent : they went on steadily with business, were contented to 
live frugally and work hard for some years. Many of the sons of 
neighbouring tradesmen and farmers, who were able perhaps to 
buy a horse or two, or three good coats in a year, and who set 
up for gentlemen, and spent their days in hunting, shooting, or 
cock-fighting, thought that the Grays were poor-spirited fellows 
for sticking so close to business. They prophesied that, even 
when these brothers should have made a fortune, they would not 
have the liberality to spend or enjoy it ; but this prediction was 
not verified. The Grays had not been brought up to place their 
happiness merely in the scraping together pounds, shillings, and 
pence ; they valued money for money's worth, not for money's 
sake; and, amongst the pleasures it could purchase, they ihough* 



that of contributing to the happiness of their parents and friends 
the greatest. When they had paid their father the hundred and 
fifty pounds he had advanced, their next object was to build a 
neat cottage for him, near the wood and mill of Rosanna, on a 
beautiful spot, upon which they had once heard him say that he 
should like to have a house. 

We mentioned that Mr. Hopkins, the agent, had a view to this 
farm ; and that he was desirous of getting rid of the Grays : but 
this he found no easy matter to accomplish, because the rent was 
always punctually paid. There was no pretence for driving, even 
for the duty-fowls ; Mrs. Gray always had them ready at the proper 
time. Mr. Hopkins was farther provoked by seeing the rich 
improvements which our farmer made every year on his land : 
his envy, which could be moved by the meanest objects of gain, 
was continually excited by his neighbour's successful industry. 
To-day he envied him his green meadows, and to-morrow the 
crocks of butter, packed on the car for Dublin. Farmer Gray's 
ten cows, which regularly passed by Mr. Hopkins's window 
morning and evening, were a sight that often spoiled his 
breakfast and supper : but that which grieved this envious man 
the most was the barrack manure ; he would stand at his window, 
and, with a heavy heart, count the car loads that went by to 
Gray's farm. 

Once he made an attempt to ruin Gray's friend, the sergeant, 
by accusing him secretly of being bribed to sell the barrack 
manure to Gray for less than he had been offered for it by others : 
but the officer to whom Mr. Hopkins made this complaint was 
fortunately a man who did not like secret informations : he pub- 
licly inquired into the truth of the matter, and the sergeant's 
honesty and Mr. Hopkins's meanness were clearly proved and 
contrasted. The consequence of this malicious interference was 
beneficial to Gray ; for the officer told the story to the colonel of 
the regiment which was next quartered in the town, and he to 
the officer who succeeded him ; so that year after year Mr. 
Hopkins applied in vain for the barrack manure. Farmer Gray 
had always the preference, and the hatred of Mr. Hopkins 
knew no bounds ; that is, no bounds but the letter of the 
law, of which he was ever mindful, because lawsuits are ex- 

Popular Tales. p 



At length, however, he devised a legal mode of annoying his 
enemy. Some land belonging to Mr. Hopkins lay between Gray's 
farm and the only bog in the neighbourhood : now he would not 
j)ermit Mr. Gray, or any body belonging to him, to draw turf 
upon his bog-road ; and he absolutely forbade his own wretched 
tenants to sell turf to the object of his envy. By these means, he 
flattered himself he should literally starve the enemy out of house 
and home. 

Things were in this situation when John and Robin Gray 
determined to build a house for their father at Rosanna. They 
made no secret to him of their intentions ; for they did not want 
to surprise but to please him, and to do every thing in the 
manner that would be most convenient to him and their mother. 
Their sister, Rose, was in all their counsels ; and it had been for 
the last three years one of her chief delights to go, after her day's 
work was clone, to the mill at Rosanna, to see how her brothers 
were going on. How happy are those families where there is no 
envy or jealousy ; but in which each individual takes an interest 
in the prosperity of the whole ! Farmer Gray was heartily 
pleased with the gratitude and generosity of his boys, as 
he still continued to call them ; though, by-the-bye, John 
was now three-and-twenty, and his brother only two years 

" My dear boys," said he, " nothing could be more agreeable 
to me and your mother than to have a snug cottage near you 
both, on the very spot which you say I pitched upon two years 
ago. This cabin that we now live in, after all I have tried to do 
to prop it up, and notwithstanding all Rose does to keep it neat 
and clean withinside, is but a crazy sort of a place. We are able 
now to have a better house, and I shall be glad to be out of the 
reach of Mr. Hopkins's persecution. Therefore, let us set about 
and build the new house. You shall contribute your share, my 
boys ; but only a share : mind, I say only a share. And I hope 
next year to contribute my share towards building a house for 
each of you : it is time you should think of mai-rying, and 
settling : it is no bad thing to have a house ready for a bride. 
We shall have quite a little colony of our own at Rosanna. Who 
knows but I may live to see my grand-children, ay, and my 
great-grand-children, settled there all round me, industrious and 
contented ?" 



Good-will is almost as expeditious and effectual as Aladdin'u 
lamp : — the new cottage for farmer Gray was built at Rosanna, 
and he took possession of it the ensuing spring, They next 
made a garden, and furnished it with all sorts of useful vege- 
tables and some pretty flowers. Rose had great pleasure in 
taking care of this garden. Her brothers also laid out a small 
green lawn before the door; and planted the boundaries with 
white-thorn, crab-trees, lilacs, and laburnums. The lawn sloped 
down to the water-side ; and the mill and copse behind it were 
seen from the parlour windows. A prettier cottage, indeed so 
pretty a one, was never before seen in this county. 

But what was better far than the pretty cottage, or the neat 
garden, or the green lawn, or the white-thorn, the crab-trees, the 
lilacs, and the laburnums, was the content that smiled amongst 

Many who have hundreds and thousands are miserable, 
because they still desire more ; or rather because they know not 
what they would have. For instance, Mr. Hopkins, the rich 
Mr. Hopkins, who had scraped together in about fifteen years 
above twenty thousand, some said thirty thousand pounds, had 
never been happy for a single day, either whilst he was making 
this fortune or when he had made it ; for he was of an 
avaricious, discontented temper. The more he had, the more he 
desired. He could not bear the pt*osperity of his neighbours ; 
and if his envy made him industrious, yet it at the same time 
rendered him miserable. Though he was what the world calls a 
remarkably fortunate man, yet the feelings of his own mind 
prevented him from enjoying his success. He had no wife, no 
children, to share his wealth. He would not marry, because a 
wife is expensive ; and children are worse than taxes. His 
whole soul was absorbed in the love of gain. He denied himself 
not only the comforts but the common necessaries of life. He 
was alone in the world. He was conscious that no human being 
loved him. He read his history in the eyes of all his neigh- 

It was known that he had risen upon the ruin of others ; and 
the higher he had risen, the more conspicuous became the faults 
of his charactei*. Whenever any man grew negligent of his 
affairs, or by misfortune was reduced to distress, Hopkins was at 
p 2 



hand to take advantage of his necessities. His first approaches 
were always made under the semhlance of friendship; but his 
victims soon repented their imprudent confidence when they felt 
themselves in his power. Unrestrained by a sense of honour or 
the feelings of humanity, he felt no scruple in pursuing his 
interest to the very verge of what the law would call fraud. 
Even his own relations complained that he duped them without 
scruple ; and none but strangers to his character, or persons 
compelled by necessity, would have any dealings with this man. 
Of what advantage to him, or to any one else, were the 
thousands he had accumulated ? 

It may be said that such beings are necessary in society ; that 
their industry is productive ; and that, therefore, they ought to 
be preferred to the idle, unproductive members of the com- 
munity : but wealth and happiness are not the same things. 
Perhaps, at some future period, enlightened politicians may 
think the happiness of nations more important than their wealth. 
In this point of view, they would consider all the members of 
society, who are prodvictive of happiness, as neither useless nor 
despicable ; and, on the contrary, they would contemn and 
discourage those who merely accumulate money, without 
enjoying or dispensing happiness. But some centuries must 
probably elapse before such a philosophic race of politicians can 
arise. In the mean time, let us go on with our story. 


Mr. HorKiNs was enraged when he found that his expected » 
victim escaped his snares. He saw the pretty cottage rise, and 
the mill of Rosanna work, in despite of his malevolence. He 
long brooded over his malice in silence. As he stood one day 
on the top of a high mount on his own estate, from which lie 
had a view of the surrounding country, his eyes fixed upon the 
little paradise in the possession of his enemies. He always 
called those his enemies of whom he was the enemy : this is no 
uncommon mistake, in the language of the passions. 

" The Rosanna mill shall be stopped before this day twelve- 



month, or my name is not Hopkins," said he to himself. " I 
have sworn vengeance against those Grays ; but I will humble 
them to the dust, before I have done with them. I shall never 
sleep in peace till I have driven those people from the country." 

It was, however, no easy matter to drive from the country 
such inoffensive inhabitants. The first thing Mr. Hopkins re- 
solved upon was to purchase from Simon O'Dougherty the field 
adjoining to that in which the mill stood. The brook flowed 
through this field, and Mr. Hopkins saw, with malicious satis- 
faction, that he could at a small expense turn the course of the 
stream, and cut off the water from the mill. 

Poor Simon by this time had reduced himself to a situation in 
which his pride was compelled to yield to pecuniary consi- 
derations. Within the last three years, his circumstances had 
been materially changed. Whilst he was a bachelor, his income 
had been sufficient to maintain him in idleness. Soft Simon, 
however, at last, took it into his head to marry ; or rather a 
cunning damsel, who had been his mistress for some years, 
took it into her head to make him marry. She was skilled in 
the arts both of wheedling and scolding : to resist these united 
powers was too much to be expected from a man of Simon's 
easy temper. 

He argued thus with himself : — " She has cost me more as 
she is than if she had been my wife twice over ; for she has no 
interest in looking after any thing belonging to me, but only 
just living on from day to day, and making the most for herself 
and her children. And the children, too, all in the same way, 
snatching what they could make sure of for themselves. Now, 
if I make her my lawful wife, as she desires, the property will 
be hers, as well as mine ; and it will be her interest to look after 
all. She is a stirring, notable woman, and will save me a world 
of trouble, and make the best of every thing for her children's 
sake ; and they, being then all acknowledged by me, will make 
my interest their own, as she says ; and, besides, this is the only 
way left me to have peace." 

To avoid the cares and plagues of matrimony, and that worst 
of plagues a wife's tongue, Simon first was induced to keep a 
mistress, and now to silence his mistress, he made her his wife. 
She assured him, that, till she was his lawful lady, she never 



should have peace or quietness ; nor could she, in conscience, 
suffer him to have a moment's rest. 

Simon married her, to use his own phrase, out of hand : but 
the marriage was only the beginning of new troubles. The bride 
had hordes and clans of relations, who came pouring in from 
all quarters to pay their respects to Mrs. O'Dougherty. Her 
good easy man could not shut his doors against any one : the 
O'Doughertys were above a hundred years, ay, two hundred 
years ago, famous for hospitality ; and it was incumbent upon 
Simon O'Dougherty to keep up the honour of the family. His 
four children were now to be maintained in idleness ; for they, 
like their father, had an insurmountable aversion to business- 
The public opinion of Simon suddenly changed. Those who 
were any way related to the O'Doughertys, and who dreaded 
that he and his children should apply to them for pecuniary 
assistance, began the cry against him of, " What a shame it is 1 
that the man does not do something for himself and his family ! 
How can those expect to be helped who won't help themselves ? 
He is contented, indeed ! Yes, and he must soon be contented 
to sell the lands that have been in the family so long; and then, 
by and by, he must be content, if he does not bestir himself, to 
be carried to jail. It is a sin for any one to be content to eat the 
bread of idleness !" 

These and similar reproaches were uttered often, in our idle 
hero's presence. They would perhaps have excited him to 
some sort of exertion, if his friend, Sir Hyacinth O'Brien, had 
not, in consequence of certain electioneering services, and in 
consideration of his being one of the best sportsmen in the 
county, and of Simon's having named ahorse after him, procured 
for him a place of about fifty pounds a year in the revenue. 
Upon the profits of this place Simon contrived to live, in a 
shambling sort of way. 

How long he might have shuffled on is a problem which 
must now for ever remain unsolved ; for his indolence was not 
permitted to take its natural course ; his ruin was accelerated by 
fehe secret operation of an active and malignant power. Mr. 
Hopkins, who had determined to get that field which joined to 

3 Essay on Charity Schools. 



Gray's mill, and who well knew that the pride of the O'Doug- 
hertys would resist the idea of selling to him any part or parcel of 
the lands of Rosanna, devised a scheme to reduce Simon to 
immediate and inextricable distress. Simon was, as it might 
have been foreseen, negligent in discharging the duties of his 
office, which was that of a supervisor. 

He either did not know, or connived at the practices, of 
sundry illegal distillers in his neighbourhood. Malicious tongues 
did not scruple to say that he took money, upon some occasions, 
from the delinquents ; but this he positively denied. Possibly 
his wife and sons knew more of this matter than he did. They 
sold certain scraps of paper, called protections, to several petty 
distillers, whose safest protection would have been Simon's 
indolence. One of the scraps of paper, to which there was 
O'Dougherty's signature, fell into the hands of Mr. Hopkins. 

That nothing might be omitted to ensure his disgrace, 
Hopkins sent a person, on whom he could depend, to givf 
Simon notice that there was an illegal still at such a hous^ 
naming the house for which the protection was granted. Sort; 
Simon received the information with his customary carelessness, 
said it was too late to think of going to seize the still that 
evening, and declared he would have it seized the next day : 
but the next day he put it off, and the day afterwards he 
forgot it, and the day after that, he received a letter from the 
collector of excise, summoning him to answer to an information 
which had been laid against him for misconduct. In this 
emergency, he resolved to have recourse to his friend Sir 
Hyacinth O'Brien, who, he thought, could make interest to 
screen him from justice. Sir Hyacinth gave him a letter to the 
collector, who happened to be in the country. Away he went 
Avith the letter : he was met on the road by a friend, who advised 
him- to ride as hard after the collector as he could, to overtake 
him before he should reach Counsellor Quin's, where he was 
engaged to dine. Counsellor Quin was candidate for the county 
in opposition to Sir Hyacinth O'Brien ; and it was well under- 
stood that whomsoever the one favoured the other hated. It 
behoved Simon, therefore, to overtake the collector before he 
should be within the enemy's gates. Simon whipped and spurred, 



and puffed and fretted, but all in vain, for he was mounted upon 
the horse which, as the reader may remember, fell into the tan- 
pit. The collector reached Counsellor Quin's long before Simor. 
arrived ; and, when he presented Sir Hyacinth's letter, it was 
received in a manner that showed it came too late. Simon los„ 
his place and his fifty pounds a year : but what he found most 
trying to his temper were the reproaches of his wife, which were 
loud, bitter, and unceasing. He knew, from experience, that 
nothing could silence her but letting her "have all the plea;" 
so he suffered her to rail till she was quite out of breath, and he 
very nearly asleep, and then said, " What you have been observ- 
ing is all very just, no doubt ; but since a thing past can't be 
recalled, and those that are upon the ground, as our proverb 
says, can go no lower, that's a great comfort; so we may be 

" Content, in troth ! Is it content to live upon potatoes and 
salt? I, that am your lawful wife! And you, that are an 
O'Dougherty too, to let your lady be demeaned and looked 
down upon, as she will be now, even by them that are sprung 
up from nothing since yesterday. There's Mrs. Gray, over 
yonder at Rosanna, living on your own land : look at her and 
look at me ! and see what a difference there is !" 

" Some difference there surely is," said Simon. 

" Some difference there surely is," repeated Mrs. O'Dougherty, 
raising her voice to the shrillest note of objurgation ; for she was 
provoked by a sigh that escaped Simon, as he pronounced his 
reply, or rather his acceding sentence. Nothing, in some cases, 
provokes a female so much as agreeing with her. 

" And if there is some difference betwixt me and Mrs. Gray, 
I should be glad to know whose fault that is ?" 

" So should I, Mrs. O'Dougherty." 

"Then I'll tell you, instantly, whose fault it is, Mr. O'Dough- 
erty : the fault is your own, Mr. O'Dougherty. No, the fault is 
mine, Mr. O'Dougherty, for marrying you, or consorting with 
you at all. If I had been matched to an active, industrious 
man, like Mr. Gray, I might have been as well in the world and 
"better than Mrs. Gray ; for I should become a fortune better 
than she, or any of her seed, breed, or generation ; and it's a 



scandal in the face of the world, and all the world says so, it's a 
scandal to see them Grays flourishing and settling a colony, there 
at Rosanna, at our expense !" 

"Not at our expense, my dear, for you know we made 
nothing of either tan-yard or mill ; and now they pay us 30/. a 
year, and that punctually too. What should we do without it, 
now we have lost the place in the revenue ? I am sure, I think 
we were very lucky to get such tenants as the Grays." 

" In truth, I think no such thing ; for if you had been blessed 
with the sense of a midge, you might have done all they have 
done yourself : and then what a different way your lawful wife 
and family would have been in ! I am sure I wish it had 
pleased the saints above to have married me, when they were 
about it, to such a man as farmer Gray or his sons. 

"As for the sons," said Simon, "they are a little out of the 
way in point of age, but to farmer Gray I see no objection in 
life : and if he sees none, and will change wives, I'm sure, Ally, 
I shall be content." 

The sort of composure and dry humour with which Simon 
made this last speech overcame the small remains of Mrs. 
O'Dougherty's patience : she burst into a passion of tears ; and 
from this hour, it being now past eleven o'clock at night, from 
this hour till six in the morning she never ceased weeping, 
wailing, and upbraiding. 

Simon rose from his sleepless bed, saying, " The saints above, 
as you caV. them, must take care of you now, Ally, any how ; 
for I'm fairly tired out: so I must go a-hunting or a-shooting 
with my friend, Sir Hyacinth O'Brien, to recruit my spirits." 

The unfortunate Simon found, to his mortification, that his 
horse was so lame he could scarcely walk. Whilst he was con- 
sidering where he could borrow a horse, just for the day's hunt, 
Mr. Hopkins rode into his yard, mounted upon a fine hunter. 
Though naturally supercilious, this gentleman could stoop to 
conquer : he was well aware of Simon's dislike to him, but he 
also knew that Simon was in distress for money. Even the 
strongest passions of those who involve themselves in pecuniary 
difficulties must yield to the exigencies of the moment. Easy 
Simon's indolence had now reduced him to a situation in which 
his pride was obliged to bend to his intei-est. Mr. Hopkins had 



once been repulsed with haughtiness by the representative of 
the O'Dougherty family, when he offered to purchase some of 
the family estate ; but his proposal was now better timed, and 
was made with all the address of which he was master. He 
began by begging Simon to give him his opinion of the horse on 
which he was mounted, as he knew Mr. O'Dougherty was a 
particularly good judge of a hunter; and he would not buy it, 
from Counsellor Quin's groom, without having a skilful friend's 
advice. Then he asked whether it was true that Simon and the 
collector had quarrelled, exclaimed against the malice and offi- 
ciousness of the informer, whoever he might be, and finished by 
observing that, if the loss of his place put Simon to any incon- 
venience, there was a ready way of supplying himself with 
money, by the sale of any of the lands of Rosanna. The imme- 
diate want of a horse, and the comparison he made, at this 
moment, between the lame animal on which he was leaning and 
the fine hunter upon which Hopkins was mounted, had more 
effect upon Simon than all the rest. Before they parted, Mr. 
Hopkins concluded a bargain for the field on which he had set 
his heart : he obtained it for less than its value by three years' 
purchase. The hunter was part of the valuable consideration he 
gave to Simon. 

The moment that Hopkins was in possession of this field ad- 
joining to Gray's mill, he began to execute a malignant project 
which he had long been contriving. 

We shall leave him to his operations ; matters of higher 
import claim our attention. One morning, as Rose was on the little 
lawn before the house door, gathering the first snowdrops of the 
year, a servant in a handsome livery rode up, and asked if Mr. 
Gray or any of the family were at home. Her father and 
brothers were out in the fields, at some distance ; but she said 
she would run and call them. "There is no occasion, Miss," 
said the servant ; " for the business is only to leave these cards 
for the ladies of the family." 

He put two cards into Rose's hand, and galloped off with the 
air of a man who had a vast deal of business of importance to 
transact. The cards contained an invitation to an election ball, 
which Sir Hyacinth O'Brien was going to give to the secondary 
class of gentry in the county. 



Rose took the cards to her mother ; and whilst they were 
reading them over for the second time, in came farmer Gray to 
breakfast. "What have we here, child?" said he, taking up 
one of the cards. He looked at his wife and daughter with 
some anxiety for a moment ; and then, as if he did not wish 
to restrain them, turned the conversation to another subject, 
and nothing was said of the ball till breakfast was over. 

Mrs. Gray then bade Rose go and put her flowers into water ; 
and as soon as she was out of the room, said, " My dear, I see 
you don't like that we should go to this ball ; so I am glad I did 
not say what I thought of it to Rose before you came in : for 
you must know, I had a mother's foolish vanity about me ; and 
the minute I saw the card, I pictured to myself our Rose dressed 
like any of the best of the ladies, and looking handsomer than 
most of them, and every body admiring her ! But perhaps the 
girl is better as she is, having not been bred to be a lady. And 
yet, now we are as well in the world as many that set up for and 
are reckoned gentlefolks, why should not our girl take this op- 
portunity of rising a step in life 1" 

Mrs. Gray spoke with some confusion and hesitation. " My 
dear," replied farmer Gray, in a gentle yet firm tone, " it is very 
natural that you, being the mother of such a girl as our Rose, 
should be proud of her, and eager to show her to the best advan- 
tage ; but the main point is to make her happy, not to do just 
what will please our own vanity for the minute. Now I am not 
at all sure that raising her a step in life, even if we could do it 
by sending her to this ball, would be for her happiness. Are 

not we happy as we are Come in, Rose, love ; come in ; I 

should be glad for you to hear what we are saying, and judge 
for yourself; you are old enough, and wise enough, I am sure. 
I was going to ask, are not we all happy in the way we live toge- 
ther now?" 

" Yes ! Oh yes ! That we are, indeed," said both the wife and 

" Then should not we be content, and not wish to alter our 
condition ?" 

" But to go to only one ball, father, would not alter our con- 
dition, would it?" said Rose, timidly. 

" If we begin once to set up for gentry, we shall not like to go 



back again to be what we are now : so, before we begin, we had 
best consider what we have to gain by a change. We have meat, 
drink, clothes, and fire : what more could we have, if we were 
gentry ? We have enough to do, and not too much ; we are all 
well pleased with ourselves, and with one another ; we have 
health and good consciences : what more could we have, if we 
were to set up to be gentry? Or rather, to put the question 
closer, could we in that case have all these comforts ? No, I 
think not : for, in the first place, we should be straitened for 
want of money ; because a world of baubles, that we don't feel 
the want of now, would become as necessary to us as our daily 
bread. We should be ashamed not to have all the things 
that gentlefolks have ; though these don't signify a straw, nor 
half a straw, in point of any real pleasure they give, still they 
must be had. Then we should be ashamed of the work by which 
we must make money to pay for all these nicknacks. John and 
Robin would blush up to the eyes, then, if they were to be caught 
by the genteel folks in their mill, heaving up sacks of flour, and 
covered all over with meal ; or if they were to be found, with 
their arms bare beyond the elbows, in the tan-yard. And you, 
Rose, would hurry your spinning-wheel out of sight, and be 
afraid to be caught cooking my dinner. Yet there is no shame 
in any of these things, and now we are all proud of doing 

"And long may we be so!" cried Mrs. Gray. "You are 
right, and I spoke like a foolish woman. Rose, my child, throw 
these cards into the fire. We are happy, and contented : and if 
we change, we shall be discontented and unhappy, as so many 
of what they call our betters are. There ! the cards are burnt ; 
now let us think no more about them." 

" Rose, I hope, is not disappointed about this ball ; are you, 
my little Rose ?" said her father, drawing her towards him, and 
seating her on his knee. 

" There was one reason, father," said Rose, blushing, " there 
was one reason, and only one, why I wished to have gone to this 

" Well, let us hear it. You shall do as you please, I promise 
you beforehand. But tell us the reason. I believe you have 
found it somewhere at the bottom of that snow-drop, which you 



have been examining this last quarter of an hour. Come, let me 
have a peep," added he, laughing. 

"The only reason, papa, is — was, I mean," said Rose. — 
" But look ! Oh, I can't tell you now. See who is coming." 

It was Sir Hyacinth O'Brien, in his gig ; and with him his 
English servant, Stafford, whose staid and sober demeanour was 
a perfect contrast to the dash and bustle of his master's ap- 
pearance. This was an electioneering visit. Sir Hyacinth was 
canvassing the county — a business in which he took great 
delight, and in which he was said to excel. He possessed 
all the requisite qualifications, and was certainly excited by 
a sufficiently strong motive ; for he knew that, if he should 
lose his election, he should at the same time lose his liberty, 
as the privilege of a member of parliament was necessary 
to protect him from being arrested. He had a large estate, 
yet he was one of the poorest men in the county ; for no 
matter what a person's fortune may be, if he spend more than his 
income, he must be poor. Sir Hyacinth O'Brien not only spent 
more than his income, but desired that his rent-roll should be 
thought to be at least double what it really was : of course he 
was obliged to live up to the fortune which he affected to possess; 
and this idle vanity early in life entangled him in difficulties from 
which he had never sufficient strength of mind to extricate him- 
self. He was ambitious to be the leading man in his county, 
studied all the arts of popularity, and found them extremely 
expensive, and stood a contested election. He succeeded ; but 
his success cost him several thousands. All was to be set to 
rights by his talents as a public speaker, and these were con- 
siderable. He had eloquence, wit, humour, and sufficient as- 
surance to place them all in the fullest light. His speeches in 
parliament were much admired, and the passion of ambition was 
now kindled in his mind : he determined to be a leading man in 
the senate ; and whilst he pursued this object with enthusiasm, 
his private affairs were entirely neglected. Ambition and 
economy never can agree. Sir Hyacinth, however, found it 
necessary to the happiness, that is, to the splendour, of his 
existence, to supply, by some means or other, the want of what 
he called the paltry, selfish, counterfeit virtue — economy. 
Nothing lesr vvould do than ths sacrifice of that which had been 



once in his estimation the most noble and generous of human 
virtues, — patriotism. The sacrifice was painful, but he could not 
avoid making it; because, after living upon five thousand a-year, 
he could not live upon five hundred. So, from a flaming patriot, 
he sunk into a pensioned placeman. 

He then employed all his powers of wit and sophistry to 
ridicule the principles which he had abandoned. In short, he 
affected to glory in a species of political profligacy ; and laughed 
or sneered at public virtue, as if it could only be the madness of 
enthusiasm, or the meanness of hypocrisy. By the brilliancy of 
his conversation, and the gaiety of his manners. Sir Hyacinth 
sometimes succeeded in persuading others that he was in the 
right ; but, alas ! there was one person whom he could never 
deceive, and that was himself. He despised himself, and 
nothing could make him amends for the self-complacency that 
he had lost. Without self-approbation, all the luxuries of life 
are tasteless. 

Sir Hyacinth O'Biien, however, was for some years thought, 
by those who could see only the outward man, to be happy ; 
and it was not till the derangement of his affairs became public 
that the world began at once to pity and blame him. He had 
a lucrative place, but he was, or thought himself, obliged to live 
in a style suited to it ; and he was not one shilling the richer 
for his place. He endeavoured to repair his shattered fortunes 
by mai-rying a rich heiress, but the heiress was, or thought her- 
self, obliged to live up to her fortune ; and, of course, her 
husband was not one shilling the richer for his marriage. When 
Sir Hyacinth was occasionally distressed for money, his agent, 
who managed all affairs in his absence, borrowed money with as 
much expedition as possible ; and expedition, in matters of 
business, must, as every body knows, be paid for exorbitantly. 
There are men who, upon such terms, will be as expeditious in 
lending money as extravagance and ambition united can desire. 
Mr. Hopkins was one of these : and he was the money-lender 
who supplied the baronet's real and imaginary wants. Sir 
Hyacinth did not know the extreme disorder of his own affairs, 
till a sudden dissolution of parliament obliged him to prepare for 
the expense of a new election. When he went into the country, 
he was at once beset with duns and constituents who claimed 



from him favours and promises. Miserable is the man who 
courts popularity, if he be not rich enough to purchase what he 

Our baronet endeavoured to laugh off with a good grace his 
apostasy from the popular party ; and whilst he could laugh at 
the head of a plentiful table, he could not fail to find many who 
would laugh with him ; but there was a strong party formed 
against him in the county. Two other candidates were his 
competitors ; one of them was Counsellor Quin, a man of vulgar 
manners and mean abilities, but yet one who could drink and 
cajole electors full as well as Sir Hyacinth, with all his wit and 
elegance. The other candidate, Mr. Molyneux, was still more 
formidable ; not as an electioneerer, but as a man of talents and 
unimpeached integrity, which had been successfully exerted in 
the service of his country. He was no demagogue, but the friend 
of justice and of the poor, whom he would not suffer to be 
oppressed by the hand of power, or persecuted by the malice of 
party spirit. A large number of grateful independent consti- 
tuents united to support this gentleman. Sir Hyacinth O'Brien 
had reason to tremble for his fate ; it was to him a desperate 
game. He canvassed the county with the most keen activity ; 
and took care to engage in his interest all those underlings who 
delight in galloping round the country to electioneer, and who 
think themselves paid by the momentary consequence they 
enjoy, and the bustle they create. 

Amongst these busy-bodies was Simon O'Dougherty : indo- 
lent in all his own concerns, he was remarkably active in 
managing the affairs of others. His home being now insuffer- 
able to him, he was glad to stroll about the country ; and to 
him Sir Hyacinth O'Brien left all the dirty work of the canvass. 
Soft Simon had reduced himself to the lowest class of stalkoes or 
walking gentlemen, as they are termed ; men who have nothing 
to do, and no fortune to support them, but who style themselves 
esquire ; and who, to use their own mode of expression, are 
jealous of that title, and of their claims to family antiquity, 
Sir Hyacinth O'Brien knew at once how to flatter Simon's 
pride, and to lure him on by promises. Soft Simon believed that 
the baronet, if he gained his election, would procure him some 
place equivalent to that of which he had been lately deprived. 



Upon the faith of this promise, Simon worked harder for his 
patron than he ever was known to do upon any previous 
occasion ; and he was not deficient in that essential characteristic 
of an electioneerer, boasting. He carried this habit sometimes 
rather too far, for he not only boasted so as to bully the opposite 
party, but so as to deceive his friends : over his bottle, he often 
persuaded his patron that he could command voters, with whom 
he had no manner of influence. For instance : he told Sir 
Hyacinth O'Brien that he was certain all the Grays would vote 
for him ; and it was in consequence of this assurance that the 
cards of invitation to the ball had been sent to Rose and her 
mother, and that the baronet was now come in person to pay his 
respects at Rosanna. 

We have kept him waiting an unconscionable time at the 
cottage door ; we must now show him in. 


The beauty of Rose was the first thing that struck him upon his 
entrance. The impression was so sudden, and so lively, that, for 
a few minutes, the election, and all that belonged to it, vanished 
from his memory. The politeness of a county candidate made 
him appear, in other houses, charmed with fathei*, mother, son, 
and daughter; but in this cottage there was no occasion for 
dissimulation ; he was really pleased with each individual of the 
family. The natural feelings of the heart were touched. The 
ambitious man forgot all his schemes, and all his cares, in the 
contemplation of this humble picture of happiness and content; 
and the baronet conversed a full quarter of an hour with farmer 
Gray, before he relapsed into himself. 

"How much happier," thought he, "are these people than I 
am, or than I ever have been ! They are contented in obscurity; 
I was discontented even in the full blaze of celebrity. But my 
fate is fixed. I embarked on the sea of politics as thoughtlessly 
as if it were only on a party of pleasure : now I am chained to the 
oar, and a galley-slave cannot be more wretched." 

Perhaps the beauty of Rose hrA some share in exciting Sir 



Hyacinth's sudden taste for rural felicity. It is certain he at 
first expressed more disappointment at hearing she would not go 
to the ball, than at being told her iainer and brothers could not 
vote for him. Farmer Gray, who was as independent in his 
principles as in his circumstances, honestly answered the baronet, 
that he thought Mr. Molyneux the fittest man to represent the 
county; and that it was for him he should therefore vote. Sir 
Hyacinth tried all his powers of pei-suasion in vain, and he left 
the cottage mortified and melancholy. 

He met Simon O 'Dougherty when he had driven a few miles 
from the door ; and, in a tone of much pique and displeasure, 
reproached him for having deceived him into a belief that the 
Grays were his friends. Simon was rather embarrassed ; but the 
genius of gossiping had luckily just supplied him with a hint, by 
which he could extricate himself from this difficulty. 

" The faidt is all your own, if I may make so free as to tell 
you so. Sir Hyacinth O'Brien," said he, "as capital an elec- 
tioneerer as you are, I'll engage I'll find one that shall outdo 
you here. Send me and Stafford back again this minute to 
Rosanna, and we'll bring you the three votes as dead as crows 
in an hour's time, or my name is not O 'Dougherty now." 
" I protest, Mr. O 'Dougherty, I do not understand you." 
" Then let me whisper half a word in your ear, Sir Hyacinth, 
and I'll make you sensible I'm right." Simon winked most 
significantly, and looked wondrous wise ; then stretching himself 
half off his horse into the gig to gain Sir Hyacinth's ear, he 
whispered that he knew, from the best authority, Stafford was in 
love with Gray's pretty daughter, Rose, and that Rose had no 
dislike to him ; that she was all in all to her father and brothers, 
and of course could and would secure their votes, if properly 
spoken to. 

This intelligence did not immediately produce the pleasing 
change of countenance which might have been expected. Sir 
Hyacinth coldly replied, he could not spare Stafford at present, 
and drove on. The genius of gossiping, according to her usual 
custom, had exaggerated considerably in her report. Stafford 
was attached to Rose, but had never yet told her so ; and as to 
Rose, we might perhaps have known all her mind, if Sir 
Hyacinth's gig had not appeared just as she was seated on her 

Popular Tales. 4 



father's knee, and going to tell him her reasons for wishing to go 
to the ball. 

Stafford acted in the capacity of house-steward to the baronet; 
and had the management of all his master's unmanageable 
servants. He had brought with him, from England, ideas of 
order and punctuality, which were somewhat new, and ex- 
tremely troublesome to the domestics at Hyacinth-hall : con- 
sequently he was much disliked by them ; and not only by them 
but by most of the country people in the neighbourhood, who 
imagined he had a strong predilection in favour of every thing 
that was English, and an undisguised contempt for all that was 
Irish. They, however, perceived that this prejudice against the 
Irish admitted of exceptions : the family of the Grays, Stafford 
acknowledged, were almost as orderly, punctual, industrious, 
and agreeable, as if they had been born in England. This was 
matter of so much surprise to him, that he could not forbear 
going at every leisure hour to the mill or the cottage of Rosanna, 
to convince himself that such things could actually be in Ireland. 
He bought all the flour for the hall at Rosanna-mill ; and Rose 
supplied the housekeeper constantly with poultry ; so that his 
master's business continually obliged Stafford to repeat his 
visits ; and every time he went to Gray's cottage, he thought it 
more and more like an English farm-house, and imagined Rose 
every day looked more like an Englishwoman than any thing 
else. What a pity she was not born the other side of the water ; 
for then his mother and friends, in Warwickshire, could never 
have made any objection to her. But, she being an Irishwoman, 
they would for certain never fancy her. He had oftentimes 
heard them as good as say, that it would break their hearts 
if he was to marry and settle amongst the bogs and the wild 

This recollection of his friends' prejudices at first deterred 
Stafford from thinking of marrying Rose ; but it sometimes 
happens that reflection upon the prejudices of others shows us 
the folly of our own, and so it was in the present instance. 
Stafford wrote frequently to his friends in Warwickshire, to 
assure them that they had quite wrong notions of Ireland ; that 
all Ireland was not a bog ; that there were several well-grown 
trees in the par** he had visited; that there were some as 



pretty villages as you could wish to see any where, only that 
they called them towns ; that the men, though some of them 
still wear brogues, were more hospitable to strangers than the 
English ; and that the women, when not smoke-dried, were 
some of the handsomest he had seen, especially one Rose 
or Rosamond Gray, who was also the best and most agreeable 
girl he had ever known ; though it was almost a sin to say so 
much of one who was not an Englishwoman bom. 

Much more in the same strain Stafford wrote to his mother ; 
who, in reply to these letters, " besought him to consider well 
what he was about, before he suffered himself to begin falling- 
desperately in love with this Rose or Rosamond Gray, or any 
Irishwoman whatsoever ; who, having been bred in a mud- 
walled cabin, could never be expected to turn out at the long 
run equal to a true-born Englishwoman, bred in a slated 

Stafford's notions had been so much enlarged by his 
travel, that he could not avoid smiling at some passages 
in his mother's epistle ; yet he so far agreed with her in 
opinion as to think it prudent not to begin falling desperately 
in love with any woman, whether Irish or English, till he was 
thoroughly acquainted with her temper and disposition. He 
therefore prudently forbore, that is to say, as much as he could 
forbear, to show any signs of his attachment to Rose, till he 
had full opportunity of forming a decisive judgment of her 

This he had now in his power. He saw that his master was 
struck with the fair Rosamond's charms ; and he knew that Sir. 
Hyacinth would pursue his purpose with no common perse- 
verance. His heart beat with joy, when the card which brought 
her refusal arrived. He read it over and over again ; and at 
last put it into his bosom, close to his heart. " Rose is a good 
daughter," said he to himself ; " and that is a sign that she will 
make a good w?fe. She is too innocent to see or suspect that 
master has taken a fancy to her, but she is right to do as 
her prudent, affectionate father advises. I never loved that 
farmer Gray so well, in all my whole life, as at this instant." 

Stafford was interrupted in his reverie by his master; who, in 
«j angry voice, called for him to inquire why he had not, ac- 



cording to his orders, served out some oats for his horses the 
preceding day. The truth was, that anxiety about Rose and the 
ball had made him totally forget the oats. Stafford coloured a 
good deal, confessed that he had done very wrong to forget the 
oats, but that he would go to the granary immediately, and 
serve them cut to the groom. Perhaps Stafford's usual 
exactness might have rendered his omission pardonable to any 
less irritable and peremptory master than Sir H. O'Brien. 

When Sterne once heard a master severely reprimanding a 
servant for some trifling fault, he said to the gentleman, " Mv 
dear sir, we should not expect to have every virtue under the sun 
for 20/. a-year." 

Sir Hyacinth O'Brien expected to have them for merely the 
promise of 20/. a-year. Though he never punctually paid his 
servants' wages, he abused them most insolently whenever he 
was in a passion. Upon the present occasion, his ill-humour was 
heightened by jealousy. 

"I wish, sir," cried he to Stafford, after pom-ing forth a 
volley of oaths, " you would mind your business, and not 
run after objects that are not fit for you. You are become 
good for nothing of late ; careless, insolent, and not fit to be 

Stafford bore all that his master said till he came to the words 
not fit to be trusted ; but the moment those were uttered, he 
could no longer command himself ; he threw down the great key 
of the granary, which he held in his hand, and exclaimed, " Not 
fit to be trusted ! Is this the reward of all my services ? Not fit 
to be trusted ! Then I have no business here." 

" The sooner you go the better, sir," cried the angiy baronet, 
who, at this instant, desired nothing more than to get him out of 
his way. " You had best set off for England directly : I have no 
farther occasion for your services." 

Stafford said not a word more, but retired from his master's 
presence to conceal his emotion ; and, when he was alone, burst 
into tears, repeating to himself, " So this is the reward of all my 
services ! " 

When Sir Hyacinth's passion cooled, he reflected that seven 
years' wages were due to Stafford ; and as it was not convenient 
to him at this election time to part with so much ready money, 



lie resolved to compromise. It was not from any sense of 
justice; therefore it must be said he had the meanness to 
apologize to his steward, and to hint that he was welcome to 
remain, if he pleased, in his service. 

Satisfied by this explanation, and by the condescension with 
which it was given, Stafford's affection for his master returned 
with all its wonted force : and he resumed his former occupations 
about the house with redoubled activity. He waited only till he 
could be spared for a day to go to Rosanna, and make his pro- 
posal for Rose. Her behaviour concerning the ball convinced 
him that his mother's prejudices against Irishwomen were ill- 
founded. Whilst his mind was in this state, his master one 
morning sent for him, and told him that it was absolutely neces- 
sary he should go to a neighbouring county, to some persons 
who were freeholders, and whose votes might turn the election. 
The 1 usiness would only occupy a few days, Sir Hyacinth said; 
and Staffoi'd willingly undertook it. 

The gentlemen to whom Stafford had letters were not at 
home, and he was detained above a fortnight. When he re- 
turned, he took a road which led by Rosanna, that he might at 
least have the pleasure of seeing Rose for a few minutes ; but 
when he called at the cottage, to his utter surprise, he was 
refused admittance. Being naturally of a warm temper, and 
not deficient in pride, his first impulse was t© turn his horse's 
head, and gallop off : but, checking his emotion, he determined 
not to leave the place till he should discover the cause of this 
change of conduct. He considered that none of this family had 
formerly treated him with caprice or duplicity ; it was therefore 
improbable they should suddenly alter their conduct towards 
him, unless they had reason to believe that they had some suffi- 
cient cause. He rode immediately to a field where he saw some 
labourers at work. Farmer Gray was with them. Stafford leaped 
from his horse, and, with an air of friendly honesty, held out 
his hand, saying, " 1 can't believe you mean to affront me : tell 
me what is the reason I am not to be let into your house, my 
good friend?" 

Gray leaned upon his stick, and, after looking at him for a 
moment, replied, " We have been too hasty, I see : we have had 
no cause of quarrel with you, Stafford : you could never look at 



me with that honest countenance, if you had any hand in this 


"What business?" cried Stafford. 

" Walk home with me, out of the hearing of these people, 
and you shall know." 

As they walked towards his cottage, Gray took out his 
great leather pocket-book, and searched for a letter. " Pray, 
Stafford," said he, "did you, about ten days ago, send my girl 
a melon ?" 

" Yes; one of my own raising. I left it with the gardener, to 
be sent to her with my best respects and services ; and a 
message intimating to say that I was sorry my master's business 
required I should take a journey, and could not see her for a 
few days, or something that way." 

" No such message came ; only your services, the melon, and 
this note. I declai-e," continued Gray, looking at Stafford 
whilst he read the letter, " he turns as pale as my wife herself 
did when I showed it to her!" 

Stafford, indeed, grew pale with anger. It was a billet-doux 
from his master to Rose, which Sir Hyacinth entreated might be 
kept secret, promising to make her fortune and marry her well, 
if she would only have compassion upon a man who adored and 
was dying for her, &c. 

" I will never see my master again," exclaimed Stafford. " I 
could not see him without the danger of doing something that I 
might not forgive myself. He a gentleman ! He a gentleman ! 
I'll gallop off and leave his letters, and his horse, with some of 
his people. I'll never see him again. If he does not pay me 
a farthing of my seven years' wages, I don't care ; I will not 
sleep in his house another night. He a gentleman !" 

Farmer Gray was delighted by Stafford's generous indigna- 
tion ; which appeared the more striking, as his manner was 
usually sober, and remarkably civil. 

All this happened at two o'clock in the afternoon; and the 
evening of the same day he returned to Rosanna. Rose was 
sitting at work, in the seat of the cottage window. When she 
saw him at the little white gate, her colour gave notice to her 
brothers who was coming, and they ran out to meet him. 

" You ought to shut your doors against me now, instead of 



running out to meet me," said he; "for I am not clear that I 
have a farthing in the world, except what is in this portmanteau. 
I have been fool enough to leave all I have earned in the hands 
of a gentleman, who can give me only his bond for my wages. 
But I am glad I am out of his house, at any rate." 

" And I am glad you are in mine," said farmer Gray, re- 
ceiving him with a warmth of hospitality which brought tears 
of gratitude into Stafford's eyes. Rose smiled upon her father, 
and said nothing ; but set him his arm-chair, and was very busy 
arranging the tea-table. Mrs. Gray beckoned to her guest, and 
made him sit down beside her ; telling him he should have as 
good tea at Rosanna as ever he had in Warwickshire ; "and out 
of Staffordshire ware, too," said she, taking her best Wedgwood 
teacups and saucers out of a cupboard. 

Robin, who was naturally gay and fond of rallying his friends, 
could not forbear affecting to express his surprise at Stafford's 
preferring an Irishwoman, of all women in the world. " Are 
you quite sure, Stafford," said he, "that you are not mis- 
taken ? Are you sure my sister has not wings on he- 
shoulders ?" 

"Have you done now, Robin?" said his mother ; who saw 
that Stafford was a good deal abashed, and had no answer ready. 
" If Mr. Stafford had a prejudice against us Irish, so much the 
more honourable for my Rose to have conquered it; and, as to 
wings, they would have been no shame to us natives, supposing 
we had them ; and of course it was no affront to attribute them 
to us. Have not the angels themselves wings?" 

A timely joke is sometimes a real blessing; and so Stafford 
felt it at this instant: his bashfulness vanished by degrees, and 
Robin rallied him no more. "I had no idea," said he, "how 
easy it is to put an Englishman out of countenance in the com- 
pany of his mistress." 

This was a most happy evening at Rosanna. After Rose 
retired, which she soon did, to see after the" household affairs, 
her father spoke in the kindest manner to Stafford. " Mr. 
Stafford," said he, "if you tell me that you are able to maintain 
my girl in the way of life she is in now, you shall have her : this, 
in my opinion and in hers, is the happiest life for those who 
have been bred to it. I would rather see Rose matched to an 



honest, industrious, good-humoured man, like yourself, whom 
she can love, than see her the wife of a man as grand as Sir 
Hyacinth O'Brien. For, to the best of my opinion, it is not the 
being born to a great estate that can make a man content or 
even rich : I think myself a richer man this minute than Sir 
Hyacinth ; for I owe no man any thing, am my own master, 
and can give a little matter both to child and stranger. But 
your head is very naturally running upon Rose, and not upon 
my moralizing. All I have to say is, win her and wear her; 
and, as to the rest, even if Sir Hyacinth never pays you your 
own, that shall not stop your wedding. My sons are good lads, 
and you and Rose shall never want, whilst the mill of Rosanna 
is going." 

This generosity quite overpowered Stafford. Generosity is one 
of the characteristics of the Irish. It not only touched but sur- 
prised the Englishman ; who, amongst the same rank of his own 
countrymen, had been accustomed to strict honesty in their 
dealings, but seldom to this warmth of friendship and forgetful- 
ness of all selfish considerations. It was some minutes before he 
could articulate a syllable ; but, after shaking his intended father- 
in-law's hand with that violence which expresses so much to 
English feelings, he said, " I thank you heartily ; and, if I live 
to the age of Methusalem, shall never forget this. A friend in 
need is a friend indeed. But I will not live upon yours or your 
good sons' earnings ; that would not be fair dealing, or like what 
I've been bred up to think handsome. It is a sad thing for me 
that this master of mine can give me nothing, for my seven 
years' service, but this scrap of paper (taking out of his pocket- 
book a bond of Sir Hyacinth's). But my mother, though she 
hasher prejudices, and is very stiff about them, being an elderly 
woman, and never going out of England, or even beyond the 
parish in which she was born, yet she is kind-hearted ; and I 
cannot think will refuse to help me, or that she will cross me in 
marriage, when she knows the thing is determined ; so I shall 
write to her before I sleep, and wish I could but enclose in the 
cover of my letter the picture of Rose, which would be better 
than all I could say. But no picture would do her justice. I 
don't mean a compliment, like those Sir Hyacinth paid to her 
face, but only the plain truth. I mean that a picture could 



never make my mother understand how good, and sweet-tem- 
pered, and modest, Rose is. Mother has a world of prejudices ; 
hut she is a good woman, and will prove herself so to me, I make 
no douht." 

Stafford wrote to his mother a long letter, and received, in a 
fortnight afterwards, this short answer : 

" Son George, I warne; 7 you not to fall in love with an 
Irishwoman, to which I told you I could never give my 

" As you bake, so you must brew. Your sister Dolly is 
marrying too, and setting up a shop in Warwick, by my advice 
and consent : all the money I can spare I must give, as in reason, 
to her who is a dutiful child ; and mean, with her and grand- 
children, if God please, to pass my latter days, as fitting, in this 
parish of Little Sonchy, in Old England, where I was born and 
bred. Wishing you may not repent, or starve, or so forth, which 
please to let me know, 

" I am your affectionate mother, 

"Dorothy Stafford.' 

All Stafford's hopes were confounded by this letter : he put it 
into farmer Gray's hands, without saying a word ; then drew his 
chair away from Rose, hid his face in his hands, and never 
spoke or heard one word that was saying round about him for 
full half an hour ; till, at last, he was roused by his friend Robin, 
who, clapping him on his back, said, " Come, Stafford, English 
pride won't do with us ; this is all to punish you for refusing to 
share and share alike with us in the mill of Rosanna, which is 
what you must and shall do now, for Rose's sake, if not for ours 
or your own. Come, say done." 

Stafford could not help being moved. All the family, except 
Rose, joined in these generous entreaties; and her silence said 
even more than their words. Dinner was on the table before this 
amicable contest was settled, and Robin insisted upon his drinking 
a toast with him, in Irish ale ; which was, " Rose Gray, and 

The glass was just fillec) and the toast pronounced, when in 



came one of Gray's workmen, in an indescribable perspiration 
and rage. 

" Master Robin, master John ! Master," cried he, "we are 
all ruined ! The mill and all " 

" The mill ! " exclaimed every body starting up. 

"Ay, the mill: it's all over with it, and with us : not a turn 
more will Rosanna-mill ever take for me or you; not a turn," 
continued he, wiping his forehead with his arm, and hiding by 
the same motion his eyes, which ran over with tears. 

" It's all that thief Hopkins's doing. May every guinea he 
touches, and every shilling, and tester, and penny itself, blister 
his fingers, from this day forward and for evermore !" 

" But what has he done to the mill ?" 

"May every guinea, shilling, tester, a»nd penny he looks upon, 
from this day forth for evermore, be a blight to his eyes, and a 
canker to his heart ! But I can't wish him a worse canker than 
what he has there already. Yes, he has a canker at heart ! Is 
not he eaten up with envy ? as all who look at him may read in 
that evil eye. Bad luck to the hour when it fixed on the mill of 
Rosanna !" 

" But what has he done to the mill ? Take it patiently, and 
tell us quietly," said farmer Gray, "and do not curse the man 
any more." 

"Not curse the man! Take it quietly, master! Is it the 
time to take it quietly, when he is at the present minute carrying 
off every drop of water from our mill-course? so he is the 
villain !" 

At these words, Stafford seized his oak stick, and sprang towards 
the door. Robin and John eagerly followed : but, as they passed 
their father, he laid a hand on each, and called to Stafford to stop. 
At his respected voice they all paused. "My children," said 
he, " what are you going to do? No violence. No violence. 
You shall have justice, boys, depend upon it; we will not let 
ourselves be oppressed. If Mr. Hopkins were ten times as great, 
and twenty times as tyrannical as he is, we shall have justice ; 
the law will reach him : but we must take care and do nothing in 
anger. Therefore, I charge you, let me speak to him, and do 
you keep your tempers whatever passes. May be, all this is only 



a mistake : perhaps Mr. Hopkins is only making drains for his 
own meadow ; or, may he, is going to flood it, and does not 
mow, till we tell him, that he is emptying our water-course." 

"He can't but know it! He can't but know it! He's 'cute 
enough, and too 'cute," muttered Paddy, as he led the way to 
the mill. Stafford and the two brothers followed their father 
respectfully ; admiring his moderation, and resolving to imitate 
it if they possibly could. 

Mr. Hopkins was stationed cautiously on the boundary of his 
own land. " There he is, mounted on the back of the ditch, 
enjoying the mischief all he can!" cried Paddy. "And hark! 
He is whistling, whilst our stream is running away from us. 
May I never cross myself again, if I would not, rather than the 
best shirt ever I had to my back, push him into the mud, as he 
deserves, this very minute! And, if it wasn't for my master 
here, it's what I'd do, before I drew breath again." 

Farmer Gray restrained Paddy's indignation with some diffi- 
culty ," and advancing calmly towards Mr. Hopkins, he remon- 
strated with him in a mild tone. "Surely, Mr. Hopkins," said he, 
"you cannot mean to do us such an injury as to stop our 

" I have not laid a finger on your mill," replied Hopkins, 
with a malicious smile. "If your man there," pointing to 
Paddy, " could prove my having laid a finger upon it, you 
might have your action of trespass ; but I am no trespasser ; I 
stand on my own land, and have a right to water my own 
meadow ; and moreover have witnesses to prove that, for ten 
years last past, while the mill of Rosanna was in Simon 
O 'Dougherty's hands, the water-course was never full, and the 
mill was in disuse. The stream runs against you now, and so 
does the law, gentlemen. I have the best counsel's opinion in 
Ireland to back me. Take your remedy, when and where you 
can find it. Good morning to you." 

Without listening to one word more, Mr. Hopkins hastily 
withdrew : for he had no small apprehensions that Paddy, whose 
threats he had overheard, and whose eyes sparkled with rage, 
might execute upon him that species of prompt justice which no 
quibbling can evade. 

" Do not be disheartened, my dear boys," said farmer Gray 



to his sons, who were watching with mournful earnestness the 
slackened motion of their water-wheel. " Saddle my horse for 
me, John ; and get yourselves ready, hoth of you, to come with 
me to Counsellor Molyneux." 

" Oh ! father," said John, " there is no use in going to him ; 
for he is one of the candidates, you know, and Mr. Hopkins has 
a great many votes." 

"No matter for that," said Gray: "Mr. Molyneux will do 
justice ; that is my opinion of him. If he was another sort of 
man, I would not trouble myself to go near him, nor stoop to 
ask his advice : but my opinion of him is, that he is above doing 
a dirty action, for votes or any thing else ; and I am convinced 
his own interest will not weigh a grain of dust in the balance 
against justice. Saddle the horses, boy." 

His sons saddled the horses ; and all the way the farmer was 
riding he continued trying to keep up the spirits of his sons, by 
assurances that if Counsellor Molyneux would take their affair 
in hand, there would be an end of all difficulty. 

" He is not one of those justices of the peace," continued he, 
" who will huddle half a dozen poor fellows into jail without law 
or equity. He is not a man who goes into parliament, saying 
one thing, and who comes out saying another. He is not, like 
cur friend Sir Hyacinth O'Brien, forced to sell tongue, and 
brains, and conscience, to keep his head above water. In short, 
he is a man who dares to be the same, and can moreover afford 
to be the same, at election time as at any other time ; for which 
reason, I dare to go to him now in this our distress, although 
I have to complain of a man who has forty-six votes, which 
is the number, they say, Mr. Hopkins can command." 

Whilst farmer Gray was thus pronouncing a panegyric on 
Counsellor Molyneux, for the comfort of John and Robin, 
Stafford was trying to console Rose and her mother, who were 
struck with sorrow and dismay, at the news of the mill's being 
stopped. Stafford had himself almost as much need of conso- 
lation as they; for he foresaw it was impossible he should at 
present be united to his dear Rose. All that her generous 
brothers had to offer was a share in the mill. The father had 
his farm, but this must serve for the support of the whole family; 
and how could Stafford become a burden to them, now that they 


would be poor, when he could not bring himself to be dependent 
upon them, even when they were, comparatively speaking 
rich ? 


With anxious hearts the little party at the cottage expected the 
return of the father and his sons. Rose sat at the window 
watching for them : her mother laid down her knitting, and 
sighed : and Stafford was silent, for he had exhausted all his 
consolatory eloquence, and saw and felt it had no effect. 

" Here they come ! But they ride so slow, that I am sure they 
bring us no good news." 

No : there was not any good news. Counsellor Molyneux had 
indeed behaved as well as man could do : he had declared that 
he would undertake to manage and plead their cause in any 
court of justice on earth ; and had expressed the strongest 
indignation against the villany of Hopkins ; but, at the same 
time, he had fairly told the Grays that this litigious man, if 
they commenced a suit, might ruin them, by law, before 
they could recover their rights. 

" So we may go to bed this night melancholy enough," said 
Robin ; " with the certainty that our mill is stopped, and that 
we have a long lawsuit to go through, before we can see it going 
again — if ever we do." 

Rose and Stafford looked at one another, and sighed. 

" We had better not go to law, to lose the little we have left, 
at any rate," said Mrs. Gray. 

"Wife, I am determined my boys shall have justice," said 
the father, firmly. " I am not fond of law, God knows ! I never 
had a lawsuit in my life ; nobody dreads such things more than 
I do ; but I dread nothing in defence of my sons and justice. 
Whilst I have a penny left in the world, I'll spend k to obtain 
them justice. The labour of their lives shall not be in vain ; 
they shall not be robbed of all they have : they shall not be 
trampled upon by any one living, let him be ever so rich, or 
ever so litigious. I fear neither his money nor his quirks of law. 



Plain sense is the same for him and for me ; and justice my 
boys shall have. Mr. Molyneux will plead our cause himself — ■ 
I desire no more. If we fail and are ruined, our ruin be upon 
the head of him who works it! I shall die content, when I 
have done all I can to obtain justice for my children." 

As soon as these facts were known, every body in the neigh- 
bourhood felt extreme indignation against Hopkins ; and all 
joined in pitying the two brothers, and applauding the spirit of 
their father. There was not an individual who did not wish that 
Hopkins might be punished ; but he had been engaged in so many 
lawsuits, and had been so successful in screening himself from 
justice, and in ruining his opponents, that every body feared the 
Grays, though they were so much in the right, would never be 
able to make this appear, according to the forms of law : many, 
therefore, advised that it might not be brought to trial : but 
farmer Gray persisted, and Counsellor Molyneux steadily abided 
by his word, and declared he would plead the cause himself. 

Mr. Hopkins sent the counsellor a private hint, that if he 
directly or indirectly protected the Grays, he must give up all 
hopes of the forty-six votes which, as the county was now nearly 
balanced, must turn the election. Mr. Molyneux paid no 
attention to this hint ; but, the very day on which he received it, 
visited farmer Gray in his cottage, walked with him to Rosanna- 
mill, and settled how the suit should be carried on. 

Hopkins swore he would spare no expense to humble the pride 
both of the Grays and their protector : an unexpected circum- 
stance, however, occurred. Jt had often been prophesied by 
Mr. Molyneux, who knew the species of bargains which Hopkins 
drove with all manner of people by whose distresses he could 
make money, that he would sooner or later overshoot his mark, 
as cunning persons often do. Mr. Molyneux predicted that, 
amongst the medley of his raudulent purchases, he would at 
length be the dupe of some unsound title; and that, amongst 
the multitudes whom he ruined, he would at last meet with some 
one who would ruin him. The person who was the means of 
accomplishing this prophecy was indeed the last that would have 
been guessed — soft Simon O'Dougherty ! In dealing with him, 
Mr. Hopkins, who thoroughly despised indolent honesty, was 
quite off his guard ; and, in truth, poor Simon had no design tc 



cheat him : but it happened that the lease, which he made over 
to Hopkins, as his title to the field that he sold, was a lease 
renewable for ever ; with a strict clause, binding the lessee to 
renew, within a certain time after the failure of each life, under 
penalty of forfeiting the lease. From the natural laziness of 
easy Simon, he had neglected to renew, and had even forgotten 
that the life was dropped : he assigned his lease over a bottle to 
Mr. Hopkins, who seized it with avidity, lest he should lose the 
lucky moment to conclude a bargain in which, he thought, he 
had at once over-reached Simon, and had secured to himself the 
means of wreaking his vengeance upon the Grays. This lease 
was of the field adjoining to Rosanna-mill ; and by the testimony 
of some old people in the neighbourhood, he fancied he could 
prove that this meadow was anciently flooded, and that the 
mill-course had gone into disuse. In all his subsequent opera- 
tions, he had carefully kept himself, as he thought, upon his own 
lands ; but, now that a suit against him was instituted, it was 
necessary to look to his own title, into which he knew Mr. 
Molyneux would examine. 

Upon reading over the lease assigned to him by Simon, he 
noticed the strict clause, binding the tenant to renew within a 
certain time. A qualm came over him ! He was astonished at 
himself for not having more carefully perused the lease before he 
concluded the bargain. Had it been with any one but soft 
Simon, this could not have happened. He hastened in search of 
Simon with the utmost anxiety, to inquire whether all the lives 
were in being. Simon at first said he had such a mist over his 
memory that he could not exactly recollect who the lives were ; 
but at last he made out that one of them had been dead beyond 
the time for renewal. The gentleman, his landlord, he said, was 
in Dublin ; and he had neglected, sure enough, to write to him 
from post to post. 

The rage of Mr. Hopkins was excessive : he grew white with 
anger ! Easy Simon yawned, and begged him not to take the 
thing so to heart : " for, after all," said he, " you know the loss 
must be mine. I can't make good the sale of this field to you, 
as I have lost it by my own carelessness : but that's nothing to 
you; for you know, as well as I do, that to make good the 
deficiency, you will, somehow or other, get a better piece of 



ground out of the small remains of patrimony I have left, God 
help me !" 

"God help you, indeed !" cried Hopkins, with a look and 
accent of mingled rage and contempt. " I tell you, man, the 
loss is mine ; and no other land you have, to sell or give, can 
make me any amends. I shall lose my lawsuit." 

"Wheugh! wheugh ! Why, so much the better. Where's the 
use of having lawsuits? The loss of such bad things can never 
be great." 

"No trifling, pray," said Hopkins, with impatience, as 
he walked up and down the room, and repeatedly struck his 

"Ho! ho! ho! I begin to comprehend. I know whereabout 
you are now," cried Simon. " Is not it the Grays you are 
thinking of? Ah, that's the suit you are talking about. But 
now, Mr. Hopkins, you ought to rejoice, as I do, instead of 
grieving, that it is out of your power to ruin that family ; for, in 
truth, they are good people, and have the voice of the country 
with them against you ; and if you were to win your suit twenty 
times over, that would stiil be the same. You would never be 
able to show your face ; and, for my own part, my conscience 
would never forgive me for being instrumental, unknown to 
myself, in giving you the power to do this mischief. And, after 
all, what put it into your head to stop Rosanna-mill, when its 
going gave you no trouble in life?" 

Hopkins, who had not listened to one syllable Simon was 
saying, at this instant suddenly stopped walking ; and, in a soft 
insinuating voice, addressed him in these words : 

" Mr. O 'Dougherty, you know I have a great regard for 

" May be so," said Simon; "though that is more than I ever 
knew you to have for any body." 

" Pray be serious. I tell you I have, and will prove it." 

" That is more and more surprising, Mr. Hopkins." 

" And which is more surprising still, I will make your fortune,, 
if you will do a trifling kindness for me." 

Anything in nature, that won't give me an unreasonable 
deal of trouble." 

" Oh, this will give you no sort of trouble," said Hopkins. 



I will get you, before this day se'nnight, that place in the 
revenue that you have been wishing for so long, and that Sir 
Hyacinth O'Brien will never get for you. I say I will insure it 
to you under my hand, this minute, if you will do what I want 
of you." 

" To be sure I will, if it's no trouble. What is it?" 

"Only just," said Hopkins, hesitating; " only just — You 
must remember — you cannot but recollect that you wrote to 
your landlord, to offer to renew?" 

" I remember to recollect no such thing," said Simon, sur- 

" Yes, yes," said Hopkins ; " but he gave you no answer, you 

" But, I tell you, I never wrote to him at all." 

" Pshaw ! You have a bad memory, Simon ; and your letter 
.might have miscarried. There's nothing simpler than that; 
iiQthing more easily said." 

<s If it were but true," said Simon. 

" True or not, it may be said, you know." 

" Not by Simon O'Dougherty, Mr. Hopkins." 

" Look you, Mr. O'Dougherty, I have a great regard for 
you," continued Hopkins, holding him fast, and producing a 
pocket-book full of bank notes. I must, thought he, come up 
to this scoundrel's price, for he has me now. He is more knave 
than fool, I see. " Let us understand one another, my good 
friend Simon. Name your sum, and make me but a short 
affidavit, purporting that you did apply for this renewal, and 
you have your place in the revenue snug besides." 

" You don't know whom you are speaking to, Mr. Hopkins," 
said Simon, looking over his shoulder, with cool and easy con- 
tempt. " The O'Doughertys are not accustomed to perjuring 
themselves ; and it's a trouble I would not take for any man, if 
he were my own father even; no, not for all the places in the 
revenue that ever were created, nor for all the bank notes ever 
you cheated mankind out of, Mr. Hopkins, into the bargain. No 
offence. I never talked of cheating, till you named perjury to 
me ; for which I do not kick you down stairs, in the first place, 
because there are no stairs, I believe, to my house; next, be- 
cause, if there were ever so many, it would be beneath me to 

Popular Tales. r 



make use of them upon any such occasion ; and, lastly, it would 
be quite too much trouble. Now we comprehend one another 
perfectly, I hope, Mr. Hopkins." 

Cursing himself, and overwhelmed with confusion, Mr. Hop- 
kins withdrew. Proud of himself, and having a story to tell, 
Simon O'Dougherty hastened to Rosanna, to relate all that had 
happened to the Grays, and to congratulate them, as he said, 
upon his own carelessness. 

The joy with which they listened to Simon's story was great 
and in proportion to the anxiety they had suffered. In less 
than half an hour's time, they received a mean, supplicating 
letter from Hopkins, entreating they would not ruin his repu- 
tation, and all his prospects in life, by divulging what had 
passed; and promising that the mill-stream of Rosanna should 
be returned to its proper channel, without any expense to them, 
and that he would make a suitable compensation in money, if 
they would bind themselves to secrecy. 

It will easily be guessed that they rejected all his offers with 
disdain : the whole affair was told by them to Mr. Molyneux, 
and the next day all the neighbourhood knew it, and triumphed 
in the detection of a villain, who had long been the oppressor of 
the poor. The neighbours all joined in restoring the water to the 
mill-course ; and when Rosanna-mill was once more at work, the 
village houses were illuminated, and even the children showed 
their sympathy for the family of the Grays, by huge bonfires and 
loud huzzas. 

Simon O'Dougherty's landlord was so much pleased by the 
honesty he had shown in this affair, that he renewed the lease of 
the meadow, instead of insisting upon the forfeiture ; and farmer 
Gray delighted poor Simon still more, by promising to overlook 
for him the management of the land, which still remained in his 

In the mean time, Mr. Hopkins, who could not go out of his 
own house without being insulted, or without fearing to be in- 
sulted, prepared to quit the country. "But before I go," said 
he, " I shall have the pleasure and triumph, at least, of making- 
Mr. Molyneux lose his election." 

The Grays feared Mr. Molyneux would indeed be a sufferer 
for the generous protection he had afforded them in their distress. 



The votes were nearly balanced in the county, and the forty-six 
votes which Hopkins could command would decide the contest. 
There are often in real life instances of what is called poetical 
justice. The day before the election, Sir Hyacinth was arrested 
at the suit of Stafford, who chose his opportunity so well, that 
the sheriff, though he was a fast friend of the baronet's, could 
not refuse to do his duty. The sheriff had such a number of 
writs immediately put into his hands, that bail could not be 
found; and Mr. Molyneux was elected without opposition. 

But, let us return, from the misery of arrests and elections, to 
peace, industry, family union, and love, in the happy cottage of 
Rosanna. No obstacles now prevented the marriage of Stafford 
and Rose ; it was celebrated with every simple demonstration of 
rural felicity. The bride had the blessings of her fond father 
and mother, the congratulations of her beloved brothers, and the 
applause of her own heart. Are not these better things than 
even forty fine wedding gowns, or a coach of Hatchett's best 
workmanship ? Rose thought so, and her future life proved she 
was not much mistaken. Stafford some time after his marriage 
took his wife to England, to see his mother, who was scon 
reconciled to him and her Irish daughter-in-law, whose gentle 
manners and willing obedience overcame her unreasonable dis- 
like. Old Mrs. Stafford declared to her son, when he was 
returning, that she had so far got the better of what he called 
her prejudices, that, if she could but travel to Ireland, without 
crossing the sea, she verily believed she would go and spend a 
year with him and the Grays at Rosanna 4 . 

Feb. 1802. 

4 Having heard, from good judges, that the language used hy Farmer 
Gray in this story appears superior to his condition, we insert a letter which 
we lately received from him; matter, manner, and orthography his own. 

" To R. L. Edgeworth, Esq. 

41 HON. SIR, 

M I have read your valuahle present with care, so has also the whole 
family; its design is excellent, it breathes forth a spirit of virtue and in- 
dustry and in a word all the social virtues which constitute human happi- 
ness — Its other characters are admirably adapted to expose vice in all its 
hideous forms, and gives us a view of those baneful principles which 

R 2 



terminate in certain misery and proves beyond a doubt that many of man- 
kind are the authors of their own calamities and frequently involve others 
in the same or similar unhappy circumstances — 

" Thrice happy are they who in affluence endeavour thus to amend 
the morals of mankind; it's they only who enjoy true felicity — their 
example and their precepts have a powerful influence on all around them, 
and never fail to excite a virtuous emulation, except, among the utterly 
abandoned and profligate — 

" On the contrary, families in elevated situations of life who devote their 
time to dissipation and its sensual allurements are the pest of society — the 
vices and crimes of the great are frequently imitated by the lower ranks — 
they all die, and no memorial is left behind but that of folly and an ill-spent 

" May that life of virtue so strongly recommended be long the shining 
ornament of you and your family, and its end be rewarded with a crown of 
eternal happiness, which is the joint wish of the family of — 

" Farmer Grav." 

July 1st, 1804. 1 



It is well known that the grand seignior amuses himself by 
going at night, in disguise, through the streets of Constan- 
tinople ; as the caliph, Haroun Alraschid, used formerly to do 
in Bagdad. 

One moonlight night, accompanied by his grand vizier, he 
traversed several of the principal streets of the city, without 
seeing any thing remarkable. At length, as they were passing 
a rope-maker's, the sultan recollected the Arabian story of 
Cogia-Hassan Alhabal, the rope-maker, and his two friends, 
Saad and Saadi, who differed so much in theji opinion con- 
cerning the influence of fortune over human affairs. 

" What is your opinion on this subject?" said the grand 
seignior to his vizier. 

" I am inclined, please your majesty," replied the vizier, " to 
think that success in the world depends more upon prudence 
than upon what is called luck, or fortune." 

" Audi," said the sultan, "am persuaded that fortune does 
more for men than prudence. Do you not every day hear of 
persons who are said to be fortunate or unfortunate? How 
comes it that this opinion should prevail amongst men, if it be 
not justified by experience ?" 

" It is not for me to dispute with your majesty," replied the 
prudent vizier. 

** Speak your mind freely ; I desire and command it," said the 

" Then I am of opinion," answered the vizic, ' that people 
are often led to believe others fortunate, or unfortunate, merely 
because they only know the general outline of their histories; 
and are ignorant of the incidents and events in which they have 



shown prudence or imprudence. I have heard, for instance, 
that there are at present, in this city, two men, who are remark- 
able for their good and bad fortune : one is called Murad the Un- 
lucky, and the other Saladin the Lucky. Now I am inclined to 
think, if we could hear their stories, we should find that one is 
a prudent and the other an imprudent character." 

" Where do these men live ?" interrupted the sultan. " I will 
hear their histories from their own lips, before I sleep." 

"Murad the Unlucky lives in the next square," said the 

The sultan desired to go thither immediately. Scarcely had 
they entered the square, when they heard the cry of loud 
lamentations. They followed the sound till they came to a house 
of which the door was open, and where there was a man tearing 
his turban, and weeping bitterly. They asked the cause of his 
distress, and he pointed to the fragments of a china vase, which 
lay on the pavement at his door. 

" This seems undoubtedly to be beautiful china," said the 
sultan, taking up one of the broken pieces; "but can the loss of 
a china vase be the cause of such violent grief and despair?" 

"Ah, gentlemen," said the owner of the vase, suspending his 
lamentations, and looking at the dress of the pretended mer- 
chants, " I see that you are strangers : you do not know how 
much cause I have for grief and despair! You do not know 
that you are speaking to Murad the Unlucky ! Were you to 
hear all the unfortunate accidents that have happened to me, 
from the time I was born till this instant, you would perhaps 
pity me, and acknowledge I have just cause for despair." 

Curiosity was strongly expressed by the sultan ; and the hope 
of obtaining sympathy inclined Murad to gratify it, by the 
recital of his adventures. " Gentlemen," said he, "I scarcely 
dare invite you into the house of such an unlucky being as I 
am ; but, if you will venture to take a night's lodging under my 
roof, you shall hear at your leisure the story of my misfor- 

The sultan and the vizier excused themselves from spending 
the night with Murad ; saying that they were obliged to proceed 
to their khan, where they should be expected by their com- 
panions : but they begged permission to repose themselves for 

]p <(D P TT ]L AIR TALE § 

"Uiiev came to a luruse. cf Triad. th.e door -was .crpeir, 
nn>i whore tacrb tn^s a man. tearing Iris tux/ban, aiicl 



ialf an hour in his house, and besought him to relate the history 
of his life, if it would not renew his grief too much to recollect 
his misfortunes. 

Few men are so miserable as not to like to talk of their mis- 
fortunes, where they have, or where they think they have, any 
chance of obtaining compassion. As soon as the pretended 
merchants were seated, Murad began his story in the following 
manner : 

" My father was a merchant of this city. The night before I 
was born, he dreamed that I came into the world with the head 
of a dog, and the tail of a dragon ; and that, in haste to conceal 
my deformity, he rolled me up in a piece of linen, which un- 
luckily proved to be the grand seignior's turban ; who, enraged 
at his insolence in touching his turban, commanded that his head 
should be struck off. 

" My father awaked before he lost his head, but not before 
he had lost half his wits from the terror of his dream. He 
considered it as a warning sent from above, and consequently 
determined to avoid the sight of me. He would not stay to see 
whether I should really be born with the head of a dog, and the 
tail of a dragon ; but he set out, the next morning, on a voyage 
to Aleppo. 

" He was absent for upwards of seven years ; and during that 
time, my education was totally neglected. One day I inquired 
from my mother why I had been named Murad the Unlucky ? 
She told me that this name was given to me in consequence of 
my father's dream ; but she added that, perhaps, it might be for- 
gotten, if I proved fortunate in my future life. My nurse, a very 
old woman, who was present, shook her head, with a look which 
I shall never forget, and whispered to my mother loud enough for 
me to hear, 1 Unlucky he was, and is, and ever will be. Those 
that are born to ill luck cannot help themselves ; nor can any, 
but the great prophet, Mahomet himself, do anything for them. 
It is a folly for an unlucky person to strive with their fate : it is 
better to yield to it at once.' 

" This speech made a terrible impression upon me, young as I 
then was ; and every accident that happened to me afterwards 
confirmed my belief in my nurse's prognostic. I was in my 
•eighth year when my father returned from abroad. The year 



after he came home my brother Saladin was born, who wag 
named Saladin the Lucky, because the day he was born, a vessel 
freighted with rich merchandise for my father arrived safely in 

" I will not weary you with a relation of all the little instances 
of good fortune by which my brother Saladin was distinguished, 
even during his childhood. As he grew up, his success in every- 
thing he undertook was as remarkable as my ill luck in all that 
I attempted. From the time the rich vessel arrived, we lived in 
splendour; and the supposed prosperous state of my father's 
affairs was of course attributed to the influence of my brother 
Saladin 's happy destiny. 

" When Saladin was about twenty, my father was taken dan- 
gerously ill ; and as he felt that he should not recover, he sent 
for my brother to the side of his bed, and, to his great surprise, 
informed him that the magnificence in which we had lived had 
exhausted all his wealth ; that his affairs were in the greatest 
disorder ; for, having trusted to the hope of continual success, 
he had embarked in projects beyond his powers. 

"The sequel was he had nothing remaining to leave to his 
children but two large china vases, remarkable for their beauty, 
but still more valuable on account of certain verses inscribed 
upon them in an unknown character, which were supposed to 
operate as a talisman or charm in favour of their possessors. 

"Both these vases my father bequeathed to my brother 
Saladin ; declaring he could not venture to leave either of 
them to me, because I was so unlucky that I should inevitably 
break it. After his death, however, my brother Saladin, who was 
blessed with a generous temper, gave me my choice of the two 
vases ; and endeavoured to raise my spirits, by repeating fre- 
quently that he had no faith either in good fortune or ill fortune. 

" I could not be of his opinion, though I felt and acknow- 
ledged his kindness in trying to persuade me out of my settled 
melancholy. I knew it was in vain for me to exert myself, 
because I was sure that, do what I would, I should still be 
Murad the Unlucky. My brother, on the contrary, was nowise 
cast down, even by the poverty in which my father left us : he 
said he was sure he should find some means of maintaining- 
himself, and so he did. 



" On examining our china vases, lie found in them a powder 
of a bright scarlet colour ; and it occurred to him that it would 
make a fine dye. He tried it, and after some trouble, it suc- 
ceeded to admiration. 

" During my father's lifetime, my mother had been supplied 
with rich dresses, by one of the merchants who was employed by 
the ladies of the grand seignior's seraglio. My brother had done 
this merchant some trifling favours ; and, upon application to him, 
he readily engaged to recommend the new scarlet dye. Indeed 
it was so beautiful, that, the moment it was seen, it was preferred 
to every other colour. Saladin's shop was soon crowded with 
customers; and his winning manners and pleasant conversation 
were almost as advantageous to him as his scarlet dye. On the 
contrary, I observed that the first glance at my melancholy 
countenance was sufficient to disgust every one who saw me. I 
perceived this plainly ; and it only confirmed me the more in my 
belief in my own evil destiny. 

" It happened one day that a lady, richly appareled and 
attended by two female slaves, came to my brother's house to 
make some purchases. He was out, and I alone was left to 
attend to the shop. After she had looked over some goods, she 
chanced to see my china vase, which was in the room. She took 
a prodigious fancy to it, and offered me any price if I would part 
with it ; but this I declined doing, because* I believed that I should 
draw down upon my head some dreadful calamity, if I vo- 
luntarily relinquished the talisman. Irritated by my refusal, the 
lady , according to the custom of her sex, became more resolute 
in her purpose ; but neither entreaties nor money could change 
my determination. Provoked beyond measure at my obstinacy, 
as she called it, she left the house. 

" On my brother's return, I related to him what had happened, 
and expected that he would have praised me for my prudence; 
but, on the contrary, he blamed me for the superstitious value I 
set upon the verses on my vase ; and observed that it would be 
the height of folly to lose a certain means of advancing my for- 
tune, for the uncertain hope of magical protection. I could not 
bring myself to be of his opinion ; 1 had not the courage to 
follow the advice he gave. The next day the lady returned, and 
my brother sold his vase to her for ten thousand pieces of gold. 



This money lie laid out in the most advantageous manner, by 
purchasing a new stock of merchandise. I repented, when it was 
too late; but I believe it is part of the fatality attending certain 
j)ersons, that they cannot decide rightly at the proper moment. 
When the opportunity has been lost, I have always regretted 
that I did not do exactly the contrary to what I had previously 
determined upon. Often, whilst I was hesitating, the favourable 
moment passed Now this is what I call being unlucky. But 
to proceed with my story. 

"The lady, who bought my brother Saladin's vase, was the 
favourite of the sultan, and all-powerful in the seraglio. Her 
dislike to me, in consequence of my opposition to her wishes, was 
so violent, that she refused to return to my brother's house, while 
I remained there. He was unwilling to part with me ; but I 
could not bear to be the ruin of so good a brother. Without 
telling him my design, I left his house, careless of what should 
become of me. Hunger, however, soon compelled me to think 
of some immediate mode of obtaining relief. I sat down upon 
a stone, before the door of a baker's shop : the smell of hot 
bread tempted me in, and with a feeble voice I demanded 

" The master baker gave me as much bread as I could eat, 
upon condition that I should change dresses with him, and carry 
the rolls for him through the city this day. To this I readily 
consented; but I had soon reason to repent of my compliance. 
Indeed, if my ill luck had not, as usual, deprived me at this criti- 
cal moment of memory and judgment, I should never have com- 
plied with the baker's treacherous proposal. For some time before, 
the people of Constantinople had been much dissatisfied with the 
weight and quality of the bread furnished by the bakers. This 
species of discontent has often been the sure forerunner of an in- 
surrection ; and, in these disturbances, the master bakers fre- 
quently lose their lives. All these circumstances I knew ; but 
they did not occur to my memory, when they might have been 

" I changed dresses with the baker ; but scarcely had I pro- 

1 " Whom the gods wish to destroy, they first deprive of under- 



ceeded through the adjoining streets with my rolls, before 
the mob began to gather round me, with reproaches and 
execrations. The crowd pursued me even to the gates of the 
grand seignior's palace ; and the grand vizier, alarmed at their 
violence, sent out an order to have my head struck off ; the 
usual remedy, in such cases, being to strike off the baker's 

" I now fell upon my knees, and protested I was not the baker 
for whom they took me ; that I had no connexion with him ; and 
that I had never furnished the people of Constantinople with 
bread that was not weight. I declared I had merely changed 
clothes with a master baker, for this day ; and that I should not 
have done so, but for the evil destiny which governs all my 
actions. Some of the mob exclaimed that I deserved to lose my 
head for my folly ; but others took pity on me, and whilst the 
officer, who was sent to execute the vizier's order, turned to 
speak to some of the noisy rioters, those who were touched bv 
my misfortune opened a passage for me through the crowd, and 
thus favoured, I effected my escape. 

" I quitted Constantinople : my vase I had left in the care of 
my brother. At some miles distance from the city, I overtook a 
party of soldiers. I joined them ; and learning that they were 
going to embark with the rest of the grand seignior's army for 
Egypt, I resolved to accompany them. If it be, thought I, the 
will of Mahomet that I should perish, the sooner I meet my fate 
the better. The despondency into which I was sunk was attended 
by so great a degree of indolence, that I scarcely would take the 
necessary means to preserve my existence. During our passage 
to Egypt, I sat all day long upon the deck of the vessel, smoking 
my pipe ; and I am convinced that if a storm had risen, as I ex- 
pected, I should not have taken my pipe from my mouth, nor 
should I have handled a rope, to save myself from destruction. 
Such is the effect of that species of resignation or torpor, which- 
ever you please to call it, to which my strong belief in fata- 
lity had reduced my mind. 

" We landed, however, safely, contrary to my melancholy 
forebodings. By a trifling accident, not worth relating, I was 
detained longer than any of my companions in the vessel when 
we disembarked ; and I did not arrive at the camp till late at 



tiight. It was moonlight, and I could see the whole scene 
distinctly. There was a vast number of small tents scattered 
over a desert of white sand ; a few date trees were visible at a 
distance ; all was gloomy, and all still ; no sound was to be 
heard but that of the camels, feeding near the tents; and, as I 
walked on, I met with no human creature. 

" My pipe was now out, and I quickened my pace a little 
towards a fire, which I saw near one of the tents. As I pro- 
ceeded, my eye was caught by something sparkling in the sand : 
it was a ring. I picked it up, and put it on my finger, resolving 
to give it to the public crier the next morning, who might find 
out its rightful owner : but by ill luck, I put it on my little 
finger, for which it was much too large ; and as I hastened 
towards the fire to light my pipe, I dropped the ring. I stooped 
to search for it amongst the provender on which a mule was 
feeding ; and the cursed animal gave me so violent a kick on 
the head, that I could not help roaring aloud. 

" My cries awakened those who slept in the tent, near which 
the mule was feeding. Provoked at being disturbed, the soldiers 
were ready enough to think ill of me ; and they took it for 
granted that I was a thief, who had stolen the ring I pretended 
to have just found. The ring was taken from me by force ; and 
the next day I was bastinadoed for having found it : the officer 
persisting in the belief that stripes would make me confess 
where I had concealed certain other articles of value, which had 
lately been missed in the camp. All this was the consequence 
of my being in a hurry to light my pipe, and of my having put 
the ring on a finger that was too little for it ; which no one but 
Murad the Unlucky would have done. 

"When I was able to walk again after my wounds were 
healed, I went into one of the tents distinguished by a red flag, 
having been told that these were coffee-houses. Whilst I was 
drinking coffee, I heard a stranger near me complaining that he 
had not been able to recover a valuable ring he had lost; 
although he had caused his loss to be published for three days 
by the public criei*, offering a rewai'd of two hundred sequins to 
whoever should restore it. I guessed that this was the very ring 
which I had unfortunately found. I addressed myself to the 
stranger, and promised to point out to him the person who had 



forced it from me. The stranger recovered his ring ; and, being 
convinced that I had acted honestly, he made me a present of 
two hundred sequins, as some amends for the punishment which 
I had unjustly suffered on his account. 

" Now you would imagine that this purse of gold was 
advantageous to me : far the contrary ; it was the cause cf new 

"One night, when I thought that the soldiers who were in the 
same tent with me were all fast asleep, I indulged myself in the 
pleasure of counting my treasure. The next day, I was invited 
by my companions to drink sherbet with them. What they 
mixed with the sherbet which I drank, I know not ; but I could 
not resist the drowsiness it brought on. I fell into a profound 
slumber ; and, when I awoke, I found myself lying under a date 
tree, at some distance from the camp. 

"The first thing I thought of, when I came to my recollection, 
was my purse of sequins. The purse I found still safe in my 
girdle ; but, on opening it, I perceived that it was filled with peb- 
bles, and not a single sequin was left. I had no doubt that I had 
been robbed by the soldiers with whom I had drunk sherbet; 
and I am certain that some of them must have been awake the 
night I counted my money ; otherwise, as I had never trusted 
the secret of my riches to any one, they could not have suspected 
me of possessing any property ; for, ever since I kept company 
with them, I had appeared to be in great indigence. 

" I applied in vain to the superior officers for redress : the 
soldiers protested they were innocent ; no positive proof appeared 
against them, and I gained nothing by my complaint but ridicule 
and ill-will. I called myself, in the first transport of my grief, 
by that name which, since my arrival in Egypt, I had avoided 
to pronounce : I called myself Murad the Unlucky ! The name 
and the story ran through the camp ; and I was accosted after- 
wards, very frequently, by this appellation. Some indeed varied 
their wit, by calling me Murad with the purse of pebbles. 

" All that I had yet suffered is nothing compared to my 
succeeding misfortunes. 

" It was the custom at this time, in the Turkish camp, for the 
soldiers to amuse themselves with firing at a mark. The superior 



officers remonstrated against this dangerous practice 2 , but 
ineffectually. Sometimes a party of soldiers would stop firing 
for a few minutes, after a message was brought them from their 
commanders ; and then they would begin again, in defianco of 
all orders. Such was the want of discipline in our army, that 
this disobedience went unpunished. In the mean time, the 
frequency of the danger made most men totally regardless of it. 
I have seen tents pierced with bullets, in which parties were 
quietly seated smoking their pipes, whilst those without were 
preparing to take fresh aim at the red flag on the top. 

"This apathy proceeded, in some, from unconquerable 
indolence of body ; in others, from the intoxication produced 
by the fumes of tobacco and of opium ; but in most of my brother 
Turks it arose from the confidence which the belief in predesti- 
nation inspired. When a bullet killed one of their companions, 
they only observed, scarcely taking the pipes from their mouths, 
' Our hour is not yet come : it is not the will of Mahomet that 
we should fall.' 

"1 own that this rash security appeared to me, at first, 
surprising ; but it soon ceased to strike me with wonder ; and it 
even tended to confirm my favourite opinion, that some were 
born to good and some to evil fortune. I became almost as 
careless as my companions, from following the same course of 
reasoning. It is not, thought I, in the power of human prudence 
to avert the stroke of destiny. I shall perhaps die to-morrow ; 
let me therefore enjoy to-day. 

" I now made it my study, every day, to procure as much 
amusement as possible. My poverty, as you will imagine, 
restricted me from indulgence and excess ; but I soon found 
means to spend what did not actually belong to me. There 
were certain Jews who were followers of the camp, and who, 
calculating on the probability of victory for our troops, advanced 
money to the soldiers ; for which they engaged to pay these 
usurers exorbitant interest. The Jew to whom I applied traded 
with me also upon the belief that my brother Saladin, with whose 
cnaracter and circumstances he was acquainted, would pay my 

3 Antis's Observations on the Manners and Customs of the Egyptians. 


debts, if I should fall. With the money I raised from the Jew 
I continually bought coffee and opium, of which I grew im- 
moderately fond. In the delirium it created, I forgot all my 
misfortunes, all fear of the future. 

" One day. when I had raised my spirits by an unusual 
quantity of opium, I was strolling through the camp, sometimes 
singing, sometimes dancing, like a madman, and repeating that 
I was not now Murad the Unlucky. Whilst these words were 
on my lips, a friendly spectator - , who was in possession of his 
sober senses, caught me by the arm, and attempted to drag me 
from the place where I was exposing myself. t Do you not see,' 
said he, ' those soldiers, who are firing at a mark ? I saw one of 
them, just now, deliberately taking aim at your turban ; and, 
observe, he is now reloading his piece.' My ill luck prevailed 
even at this instant, the only instant in my life when I defied its 
power. I struggled with my adviser, repeating, < I am not 
the wretch you take me for ; I am not Murad the Unlucky.' He 
fled from the danger himself : I remained, and in a few 
seconds afterwards a ball reached me, and I fell senseless on 
the sand. 

" The ball was cut out of my body by an awkward surgeon, 
who gave me ten times more pain than was necessary. He 
was particularly hurried, at this time, because the army had just 
received orders to march in a few hours, and all was confusion 
in the camp. My wound was excessively painful, and the fear 
of being left behind with those who were deemed incurable 
added to my torments. Perhaps, if I had kept myself quiet, I 
might have escaped some of the evils I afterwards endured ; but, 
as I have repeatedly told you, gentlemen, it was my ill fortune 
never to be able to judge what was best to be done, till the time 
for prudence was past. 

"During that day, when my fever was at the height, and 
when my orders were to keep my bed, contrary to my natural 
habits of indolence, I rose a hundred times, and went out of my 
tent in the very heat of the day, to satisfy my curiosity as to 
the number of the tents which had not been struck, and of the 
soldiers who had not yet marched. The orders to march were 
tardily obeyed, and many hours elapsed before our encamp- 
ment was raised. Had I submitted to my surgeon's orders, I 



might have hecn in a state to accompany the most dilatory of 
the stragglers ; I could have borne, perhaps, the slow motion of 
a littei*, on which some of the sick were transported ; but in the 
evening, when the surgeon came to dress my wounds, he found 
me in such a situation that it was scarcely possible to remove 

" He desired a party of soldiers, who were left to bring up the 
rear, to call for me the next morning. They did so ; but they 
wanted to put me upon the mule which I recollected, by a 
white streak on its back, to be the cursed animal that had kicked 
me, whilst I was looking for the ring. I could not be prevailed 
upon to go upon this unlucky animal. I tried to persuade the 
soldiers to carry me, and they took me a little way ; but, soon 
growing weary of their burden, they laid me down on the sand, 
pretending that they were going to fill a skin with water at a 
spring they had discovered, and bade me lie still, and wait for 
their return. 

" I waited and waited, longing for the water to moisten my 
parched lips ; but, no water came — no soldiers returned ; and 
there I lay, for several hours, expecting every moment to 
breathe my last. I made no effort to move, for I was now con- 
vinced my hour was come ; and that it was the will of Mahomet 
that I should perish in this miserable manner, and lie unburied 
like a dog; a death, thought I, worthy of Murad the Unlucky. 

" My forebodings were not this time just ; a detachment of 
English soldiers passed near the place where I lay : my groans 
were heard by them, and they humanely came to my assistance. 
They carried me with them, dressed my wound, and treated me 
with the utmost tenderness. Christians though they were, I 
must acknowledge that I had reason to love them better than 
any of the followers of Mahomet, my good brother only excepted. 

" Under their care I recovered ; but scarcely had I regained 
my strength before I fell into new disasters. It was hot weather, 
and my thirst was excessive. I went out with a party, in hopes 
of finding a spring of water. The English soldiers began to dig 
for a well, in a place pointed out to them by one of their men 
of science. I was not inclined to such hard labour, but preferred 
sauntering on in search of a spring. I saw at a distance some- 
thing that looked like a pool of water; and I pointed it out to 



my companions. Their man of science warned me by his inter- 
preter, not to trust to this deceitful appearance ; for that such 
were common in this country, and that, when I came close to 
the spot, I should find no water there. He added, that it was 
at a greater distance than I imagined ; and that I should, in 
all probability, be lost in the desert, if I attempted to follow 
this phantom. 

" I was so unfortunate as not to attend to his advice : I set 
out in pursuit of this accursed delusion, which assuredly was the 
work of evil spirits, who clouded my reason, and allured me 
into their dominion. I went on, hour after hour, in expectation 
continually of reaching the object of my wishes; but it fled 
faster than I pursued, and I discovered at last that the English- 
man, who had doubtless gained his information from the people 
of the country, was right ; and that the shining appearance, 
which I had taken for water, was a mere deception. 

" I was now exhausted with fatigue : I looked back in vain 
after the companions I had left; I could see neither men, 
animals, nor any trace of vegetation in the sandy desert. I had 
no resource but, weary as I was, to measure back my footsteps, 
which were imprinted in the sand. 

" I slowly and sorrowfully traced them as my guides in this 
unknown land. Instead of yielding to my indolent inclinations, 
I ought, however, to have made the best of my way back, before 
the evening breeze sprung up. I felt the breeze rising, and 
unconscious of my danger, I rejoiced, and opened my bosom to 
meet it ; but what was my dismay when I saw that the wind swept 
before it all trace of my footsteps in the sand. I knew not 
which way to proceed ; I was struck with despair, tore my 
garments, threw off my turban, and cried aloud; but neither 
human voice ncr echo answered me. The silence was dreadful. 
I had tasted no food for many hours, and I now became sick 
and faint. I recollected that I had put a supply of opium into 
the folds of my turban; but, alas! when I took my turban up, 
I found that the opium had fallen out. I searched for it in vain 
on the sand, where I had thrown the turban. 

" I stretched myself out upon the ground, and yielded without 
further struggle to my evil destiny. What I suffered from thirst, 
hunger, and heat, cannot be described ! At last I fell into a 

Popular Tales. g 



3ort of trance, during which images of various kinds seemed to 
Hit before my eyes. How long I remained in this state I know 
not; but I remember that I was brought to my senses by a loud 
shout, which came from persons belonging to a caravan re- 
turning from Mecca. This was a shout of joy for their safe 
arrival at a certain spring, well known to them in this part of 
the desert. 

" The spring was not a hundred yards from the spot where I 
lay ; yet, such had been the fate of Murad the Unlucky, that he 
missed the reality, whilst he had been hours in pursuit of the 
phantom. Feeble and spiritless as I was, I sent forth as loud a 
ery as I could, in hopes of obtaining assistance ; and I endea- 
voured to crawl to the place from which the voices appeared to 
come. The caravan rested for a considerable time whilst the 
slaves filled the skins with water, and whilst the camels took in 
their supply. I worked myself on towards them ; yet, notwith- 
standing my efforts, I was persuaded that, according to my 
usual ill fortune, I should never be able to make them hear my 
voice. I saw them mount their camels ! I took off my turban, 
unrolled it, and waved it in the air. My signal was seen ! The 
caravan came towards me ! 

tl I had scarcely strength to speak : a slave gave me some 
water ; and, after I had drunk, I explained to them who I was, 
and how I came into this situation. 

" Whilst I was speaking, one of the travellers observed the 
purse which hung to my girdle : it was the same the merchant, 
for whom I recovered the ring, had given to me ; I had carefully 
preserved it, because the initials of my benefactor's name, and a 
passage from the Koran, were worked upon it. When he gave 
it to me, he said that, perhaps, wc should meet again in some 
other part of the world, and he should recognize me by this 
token. The person who now took notice of the purse was his 
brother ; and when I related to him hew I had obtained it, he 
had the goodness to take me under his protection. He was a 
merchant, who was now going with the caravan to Grand Cairo : 
he offered to take me with him, and I willingly accepted the 
proposal, promising to serve him as faithfully as any of 
his slaves. The caravan proceeded, and I was carried with 




*' The merchant, who was become my master, treated me with 
great kindness ; but, on hearing me relate the whole series of my 
unfortunate adventures, he exacted a promise from me, that 
would do nothing without first consulting him. ' Since you 
are so unlucky, Murad,' said he, ' that you always choose 
for the worst when you choose for yourself, you should 
trust entirely to the judgment of a wiser or a more fortunate 

" I fared well in the service of this merchant, who was a man 
of a mild disposition, and who was so rich that he could afford to 
be generous to all his dependants. It was my business to see his 
camels loaded and unloaded at proper places, to count his bales 
of merchandise, and to take care that they were not mixed with 
those of his companions. This I carefully did, till the day we 
arrived at Alexandria ; when, unluckily, I neglected to count 
the bales, taking it for gi'anted that they were all right, as I had 
found them so the preceding day. However, when we were to 
go on board the vessel that was to take us to Cairo, I perceived 
that three bales of cotton were missing. 

" I ran to inform my master, who, though a good deal pro- 
voked at my negligence, did not reproach me as I deserved. 
The public crier was immediately sent round the city, to offer a 
reward for the recovery of the merchandise ; and it was restored 
by one of the merchants' slaves, with whom we had travelled. 
The vessel was now under sail ; my master and I and the bales 
of cotton were obliged to follow in a boat ; and when we were 
taken on board, the captain declared he was so loaded that he 
could not tell where to stow the bales of cotton. After much 
difficulty, he consented to let them remain upon deck; and I 
promised my master to watch them night and day. 

" We had a prosperous voyage, and were actually in sight of 
shore, which the captain said we could not fail to reach early 
the next morning. I stayed, as usual, this night upon deck ; and 
solaced myself by smoking my pipe. Ever since I had indulged 
in this practice at the camp at El Arish, I could not exist without 
opium and tobacco. I suppose that my reason was this night 
s 2 


a little clouded with the dose I took ; but, towards midnight, I 
was sobered by terror. I started up from the deck on which I 
had stretched myself; my turban was in flames; the bale of 
cotton on which I had rested was all on fire. I awakened tw® 
sailors, who were fast asleep on deck. The consternation became 
general, and the confusion increased the danger. The cap- 
tain and my master were the most active, and suffered the 
most in extinguishing the flames : my master was terribly 

" For my part, I was not suffered to do any thing; the captain 
ordered that I should be bound to the mast; and, when at last 
the flames were extinguished, the passengers, with one accord, 
besought him to keep me bound hand and foot, lest I should be 
the cause of some new disaster. All that had happened was, 
indeed, occasioned by my ill luck. I had laid my pipe down r 
when I was falling asleep, upon the bale of cotton that was 
beside me. The fire from my pipe fell out, and set the cotton 
in flames. Such was the mixture of rage and terror with which 
I had inspired the whole crew, that I am sure they would have 
set me ashore on a desert island, rather than have had me on 
board for a week longer. Even my humane master, I could 
perceive, was secretly impatient to get rid of Murad the Unlucky, 
and his evil fortune. 

" You may believe that I was heartily glad when we landed., 
and when 1 was unbound. My master put a purse containing 
fifty sequins into my hand, and bade me farewell. 4 Use this 
money prudently, Murad, if you can,' said he, 'and perhaps 
your fortune may change.' Of this I had little hopes, but 
determined to lay out my money as prudently as possible. 

" As I was walking through the streets of Grand Cairo, con 
sidering how I should lay out my fifty sequins to the greatest 
advantage, I was stopped by one who called me by my name, 
and asked me if I could pretend to have forgotten his face. I 
looked steadily at him, and recollected to my sorrow that he 
was the Jew llachub, from whom I had borrowed certain sums 
of money at the camp at El Arish. What brought him to Grand 
Cairo, except it was my evil destiny, I cannot tell. He would 
not quit me ; he would take no excuses ; he said he knew that I 
had deserted twice, once from the Turkish and once from the 



English army ; that I was not entitled to any pay ; and that he 
could not imagine it possible that my brother Saladin would own 
me, or pay my debts. 

" I replied, for I was vexed by the insolence of this Jewish 
dog, that I was not, as he imagined, a beggar ; that I had the 
means of paying him my just debt, but that I hoped he would 
not extort from me all that exorbitant interest which none but 
a Jew could exact. Pie smiled, and answered that, if a Turk 
loved opium better than money, this was no fault of his ; that 
he had supplied me with what I loved best in the world ; and 
that I ought not to complain, when he expected I should return 
the favour. 

" I will not weary you, gentlemen, with all the arguments 
that passed between me and Rachub. At last we compromised 
matters; he would take nothing less than the whole debt: but 
he let me have at a very cheap rate a chest of second-hand 
clothes, by which he assured me I might make my fortune. He 
brought them to Grand Cairo, he said, for the purpose of selling 
them to slave merchants, who, at this time of the year, were in 
want of them to supply their slaves; but he was in haste to get 
home to his wife and family, at Constantinople, and therefore he 
was willing to make over to a friend the profits of this specula- 
tion. I should have distrusted Rachub's professions of friend- 
ship, and especially of disinterestedness ; but he took me with 
him to the khan, where his goods were, and unlocked the chest 
cf clothes to show them to me. They were of the richest and 
finest materials, and had been but little worn. I could not doubt 
the evidence of my senses ; the bargain was concluded, and the 
Jew sent porters to my inn with the chest. 

" The next day I repaired to the public market-place ; and, 
Avhen my business was known, I had choice of customers before 
night : my chest was empty — and my purse was full. The 
profit I made, upon the sale of these clothes, was so considerable, 
that I could not help feeling astonishment at Rachub's having 
brought himself so readily to relinquish them. 

" A few days after I had disposed of the contents of my 
chest, a Damascene merchant, who had bought two suits of 
apparel from me, told me, with a very melancholy face, that 
both the female slaves who had put on these clothes were sick. 



1 could not conceive that the clothes were the cause of their 
sickness ; but soon afterwards, as I was crossing the market, I 
was attacked by at least a dozen merchants, who made similar 
complaints. They insisted upon knowing how I came by the 
garments, and demanded whether I had worn any of them 
myself. This day I had for the first time indulged myself with 
wearing a pair of yellow slippers, the only finery I had reserved 
for myself out of all the tempting goods. Convinced by my 
wearing these slippers that I could have had no insidious de- 
signs, since I shared the danger, whatever it might be, the mer- 
chants were a little pacified ; but what was my terror and 
remorse the next day, when one of them came to inform me 
that plague-boils had broken out under the arms of all the slaves 
who had worn this pestilential apparel ! On looking carefully 
into the chest, we found the word Smyrna written, and half 
effaced, upon the lid. Now, the plague had for some time raged 
at Smyrna ; and, as the merchants suspected, these clothes had 
certainly belonged to persons who had died of that distemper. 
This was the reason why the Jew was willing to sell them to me 
so cheap ; and it was for this reason that he would not stay at 
Grand Cairo himself to reap the profits of his speculation. In- 
deed, if I had paid attention to it at the proper time, a slight 
circumstance might have revealed the truth to me. Whilst 
I was bargaining with the Jew, before he opened the chest, he 
swallowed a large dram of brandy, and stuffed his nostrils with 
sponge dipped in vinegar : this he told me he did to prevent his 
perceiving the smell of musk, which always threw him into con- 

" The horror I felt, when I discovered that I had spread the 
infection of the plague, and that I had probably caught it 
myself, overpowered my senses ; a cold dew spread over all my 
limbs, and I fell upon the lid of the fatal chest in a swoon. It 
is said that fear disposes people to take the infection; however 
this may be, I sickened that evening, and soon was in a raging 
fever. It was worse for me whenever the delirium left me, and 
I could reflect upon the miseries my ill fortune had occasioned. 
In my first lucid interval, I looked round and saw that I had 
been removed from the khan to a wretched hut. An old woman, 
who was smoking her pipe in the farthest corner of my room, 



informed me that I had heen sent out of the town of Grand 
Cairo hy order of the cadi, to whom the merchants had made 
their complaint. The fatal chest was burnt, and the house in 
which I had lodged razed to the ground. 1 And if it had not 
been for me,' continued the old woman, 'you would have been 
dead, probably, at this instant ; but I have made a vow to our 
great prophet, that I would never neglect an opportunity of 
doing a good action : therefore, when you were deserted by all 
the world, I took care of you. Here, too, is your purse, which 
I saved from the rabble ; and, what is more difficult, from the 
officers of justice : I will account to you for every para that I 
have expended ; and will moreover tell you the reason of my 
making such an extraordinary vow.' 

" As I believed that this benevolent old woman took great 
pleasure in talking, I made an inclination of my head to thank 
her for her promised history, and she proceeded ; but I must 
confess I did not listen with all the attention her narrative 
doubtless deserved. Even curiosity, the strongest passion of us 
Turks, was dead within me. I have no recollection cf the 
old woman's story. It is as much as I can do to finish my own. 

"The weather became excessively hot : it was affirmed, by 
some of the physicians, that this heat would prove fatal to 
their patients 3 ; but, contrary to the prognostics of the physicians, 
it stopped the progress of the plague. I recovered, and found 
my purse much lightened by my illness. I divided the re- 
mainder of my money with my humane nurse, and sent her out 
into the city, to inquire how matters were going on. 

" She brought me word that the fury of the plague had much 
abated; but that she had met several funerals, and that she had 
heard many of the merchants cursing the folly of Murad the 
Unlucky, who, as they said, had brought all this calamity upon 
the inhabitants of Cairo. Even fools, they say, learn by expe- 
rience. I took care to burn the bed on which I had lain, and 
the clothes I had worn : I concealed my real name, which I 
knew would inspire detestation, and gained admittance, with a 
crowd of other poor wretches, into a lazaretto, where I per- 
formed quarantine, and offered up prayers daily for the sick. 

8 AnuYs Observations on the Manners and Customs of the Egyptians. 



" When L thought it was impossible I could spread the infec- 
tion, I took my passage home. I was eager to get away from 
Grand Cairo, where I knew I was an object of execration. I 
had a strange fancy haunting my mind ; I imagined that all my 
misfortunes, since I left Constantinople, had arisen from my 
neglect of the talisman upon the beautiful china vase. I dreamed 
three times, when I was recovering from the plague, that a 
genius appeared to me, and said, in a reproachful tone, ' Murad, 
where is the vase that was intrusted to thy care V 

"This dream operated strongly upon my imagination. As 
soon as we arrived at Constantinople, which we did, to my great 
surprise, without meeting with any untoward accidents, I went 
in search of my brother Saladin, to inquire for my vase. He no 
longer lived in the house in which I left him, and I began to be 
apprehensive that he was dead ; but a porter, hearing my in- 
quiries, exclaimed, ' Who is there in Constantinople that is 
ignorant of the dwelling of Saladin the Lucky ? Come with me, 
and I will show it to you.' 

" The mansion to which he conducted me looked so mag- 
nificent, that I was almost afraid to enter lest there should be 
some mistake. But, whilst I was hesitating, the doors opened, 
and I heard my brother Saladin's voice. He saw me almost at 
the same instant that I fixed my eyes upon him, and imme- 
diately sprang forward to embrace me. He was the same good 
brother as ever, and I rejoiced in his prosperity with all my 
heart. ' Brother Saladin,' said I, ' can you now doubt that some 
men are born to be fortunate, and others to be unfortunate ? 
How often you used to dispute this point with me ! ' 

" ' Let us not dispute it now in the public street,' said he, 
smiling ; ' but come in and refresh yourself, and we will consider 
the question afterwards at leisure.' 

" 'No, my dear brother,' said I, drawing back, 'you are too 
good : Murad the Unlucky shall not enter your house, lest he 
should draw down misfortunes upon you and yours. 1 come 
only to ask for my vase.' 

" ' It is safe,' cried he ; ' come in, and you shall see it : but I 
will not give it up till I have you in my house. I have none of 
these superstitious fears : pardon me the expression, but I have 
none of these superstitious fears.' 



" I yielded, entered his house, and was astonished at all I saw ! 
My brother did not triumph in his prosperity ; but, on the con- 
trary, seemed intent only upon making me forget my misfor- 
tunes : he listened to the account of them with kindness, and 
obliged me by the recital of his history ; which was, I must 
acknowledge, far less wonderful than my own. He seemed, by 
his'own account, to have grown rich in the common course of 
things ; or rather, by his own prudence. I allowed for his pre- 
judices, and, unwilling to dispute farther with him, said, 1 You 
must remain of your opinion, brother ; and I of mine : you are 
Saladin the Lucky, and 1 Murad the Unlucky ; and so we shall 
remain to the end of our lives.' 

" I had not been in his house four days when an accident 
happened, which showed how much I was in the right. The 
favourite of the sultan, to whom he had formerly sold his china 
vase, though her charms were now somewhat faded by time, still 
retained her power, and her taste for magnificence. She com- 
missioned my brother to bespeak for her, at Venice, the most 
splendid looking-glass that money could purchase. The mirror, 
after many delays and disappointments, at length arrived at my 
brother's house. He unpacked it, and sent to let the lady know 
it was in perfect safety. It was late in the evening, and she 
ordered it should remain where it was that night ; and that it 
should be brought to the seraglio the next morning. It stood in 
a sort of ante-chamber to the room in which I slept ; and with it 
were left some packages, containing glass chandeliers for an 
unfinished saloon in my brother's house. Saladin charged all 
his domestics to be vigilant this night, because he had money to 
a great amount by him, and there had been frequent robberies 
in our neighbourhood. Hearing these orders, I resolved to be 
in readiness at a moment's warning. I laid my scimitar beside 
me upon a cushion ; and left my door half open, that I might 
hear the slightest noise in the ante-chamber, or the great stair- 
case. About midnight, I was suddenly awakened by a noise in 
the ante-chamber. I started up, seized my scimitar, and the 
instant I got to the door, saw, by the light of the lamp which 
was burning in the room, a man standing opposite to me, with a 
drawn sword in his hand. I rushed forward, demanding what 
he wanted, and received no answer ; but, seeing him aim at me 



with his scimitar, I gave him, as I thought, a deadly hlow. At 
this instant, I heard a great crash ; and the fragments of the 
looking-glass, which I had shivered, fell at my feet. At the 
same moment, something black brushed by my shoulder : I 
pursued it, stumbled over the packages of glass, and rolled over 
them down the stairs. 

" My brother came out of his room, to inquire the cause of all 
this disturbance ; and when he saw the fine mirror broken, and 
me lying amongst the glass chandeliers at the bottom of the 
stairs, he could not forbear exclaiming, ' Well, brother ! you are 
indeed Murad the Unlucky.' 

" When the first emotion was over, he could not, however, 
forbear laughing at my situation. With a degree of goodness, 
which made me a thousand times more sorry for the accident, 
he came down stairs to help me up, gave me his hand, and said, 
' Forgive me, if I was angry with you at first. I am sure you 
did not mean to do me any injury ; but tell me how all this has 
happened? ' 

" Whilst Saladin was speaking, I heard the same kind of noise 
which had alarmed me in the ante-chamber ; but, on looking 
back, I saw only a black pigeon, which flew swiftly by me, un- 
conscious of the mischief he had occasioned. This pigeon I 
had unluckily brought into the house the preceding day ; and 
had been feeding and trying to tame it for my young nephews. 
I little thought it would be the cause of such disasters. My 
brothei', though he endeavoured to conceal his anxiety from me, 
was much disturbed at the idea of meeting the favourite's dis- 
pleasure, who would certainly be grievously disappointed by the 
loss of her splendid looking-glass. I saw that I should inevitably 
be his ruin, if I continued in his house ; and no persuasions 
could prevail upon me to prolong my stay. My generous brother, 
seeing me determined to go, said to me, ' A factor, whom I have 
employed for some years to sell merchandise for me, died a few 
days ago. Will you take his place ? I am rich enough to bear 
any little mistakes you may fall into, from ignorance of busi- 
ness ; and you will have a partner who is able and willing to 
assist you.' 

" I was touched to the heart by this kindness, especially at 
such a time as this. He sent one of his slaves with me to the 



shop in which you now see me, gentlemen. The slave, by my 
brother's directions, brought with us my china vase, and delivered 
it safely to me, with this message: 'The scarlet dye that was 
found in this vase, and in its fellow, was the first cause of 
Saladin's making the fortune he now enjoys : he therefore does 
no more than justice, in sharing that fortune with his brother 

" I was now placed in as advantageous a situation as possible ; 
but my mind was ill at ease, when I reflected that the broken 
mirror might be my brother's ruin. The lady by whom it had 
been bespoken was, I well knew, of a violent temper ; and this 
disappointment was sufficient to provoke her to vengeance. My 
brother sent me word this morning, however, that though her 
displeasure was excessive, it was in my power to prevent any ill 
consequences that might ensue. ' In my power!' I exclaimed ; 
' then, indeed, I am happy ! Tell my brother there is nothing I 
will not do to show him my gratitude, and to save him from the 
consequences of my folly.' 

" The slave who was sent by my brother seemed unwilling to 
name what was required of me, saying that his master was afraid 
I should not like to grant the request. I urged him to speak 
freely, and he then told me the favourite declared nothing 
would make her amends for the loss of the mirror but the fellow 
vase to that which she had bought from Saladin. It v/as im- 
possible for me to hesitate ; gratitude for my brother's generous 
kindness overcame my superstitious obstinacy ; and I sent him 
word I would carry the vase to him myself. 

" I took it down this evening from the shelf on which it stood; 
it was covered with dust, and I washed it, but unluckily, in 
endeavouring to clean the inside from the remains of the scarlet 
powder, I poured hot water into it, and immediately I heard a 
simmering noise, and my vase, in a few instants, burst asunder 
with a loud explosion. These fragments, alas ! are all that 
remain. The measure of my misfortunes is now completed! 
Can you wonder, gentlemen, that I bewail my evil destiny ? Am 
I not justly called Murad the Unlucky ? Here end all my hopes 
in this world ! Better would it have been if I had died long ago ! 
Better that I had never been born ! Nothing I ever have done 


or attempted has prospered. Murad the Unlucky is my name, 
and ill-fate has marked me for her own." 


The lamentations of Murad were interrupted by tHe entrance of 
Saladin. Having waited in vain for some hours, he now came to 
see if any disaster had happened to his brother Murad. He was 
surprised at the sight of the two pretended merchants, and could 
not refrain from exclamations on beholding the broken vase. 
However, with his usual equanimity and good-nature, he began 
to console Murad : and, taking up the fragments, examined 
them carefully, one by one joined them together again, found 
that none of the edges of the china were damaged, and declared 
he could have it mended so as to look as well as ever. 

Murad recovered his spirits upon this. "Brother," said he, 
" I comfort myself for being Murad the Unlucky, when I reflect 
that you are Saladin the Lucky. See, gentlemen," continued 
he, turning to the pretended merchants, " scarcely has this 
most fortunate of men been five minutes in company before he 
gives a happy turn to affairs. His presence inspires joy : I 
observe your countenances, which had been saddened by my 
dismal history, have brightened up since he has made his 
appearance. Brother, I wish you would make these gentlemen 
some amends for the time they have wasted in listening to my 
catalogue of misfortunes, by relating your history, which, I am 
sure, they will find rather more exhilarating." 

Saladin consented, on condition that the strangers would ac- 
company him home, and partake of a social banquet. They at 
first repeated the former excuse of their being obliged to return 
to their inn ; but at length the sultan's curiosity prevailed, and 
he and his vizier went home with Saladin the Lucky, who, after 
supper, related his history in the following manner : — 

" My being called Saladin the Lucky first inspired me with 
confidence in myself ; though I own that I cannot remember 
any extraordinary instances of good luck in my childhood. 



An old nurse of my mother's, indeed, repeated to me twenty 
times a day, that nothing I undertook could fail to succeed, 
because I was Saladin the Lucky. I became presumptuous 
and rash : and my nurse's prognostics might have effectually 
prevented their accomplishment, had I not, when I was about 
fifteen, been roused to reflection during a long confinement, 
which was the consequence of my youthful conceit and im- 

" At this time there was at the Porte a Frenchman, an inge- 
nious engineer, who was employed and favoured by the sultan, 
to the great astonishment of many of my prejudiced countrymen. 
On the grand seignior's birth-day he exhibited some extraordina- 
rily fine fireworks ; and I, with numbers of the inhabitants of 
Constantinople, croAvded to see them. I happened to stand near 
the place where the Frenchman was stationed ; the crowd 
pressed upon him, and I amongst the rest ; he begged we would, 
for our own sakes, keep at a greater distance, and warned us 
that we might be much hurt by the combustibles which he was 
using. I, relying upon my good fortune, disregarded all these 
cautions ; and the consequence was, that as I touched some of 
the materials prepared for the fireworks, they exploded, dashed 
me upon the ground with great violence, and I was terribly 

"This accident, gentlemen, I consider as one of the most for- 
tunate circumstances of my life ; for it checked and corrected the 
pi*esumption of my temper. During the time I was confined to 
my bed, the French gentleman came frequently to see me. He 
was a very sensible man ; and the conversations he had with me 
enlarged my mind, and cured me of many foolish prejudices, 
especially of that which I had been taught to entertain, concern- 
ing the predominance of what is called luck, or fortune, inhuman 
affairs. ' Though you are called Saladin the Lucky,' said he, 
4 you find that your neglect of prudence has nearly brought you 
to the grave even in the bloom of youth. Take my advice, 
and henceforward trust more to prudence than to fortune. 
Let the multitude, if they will, call you Saladin the Lucky ; 
but call yourself, and make yourself, Saladin the Prudent.* 

" These words left an indelible impression on my mind, and 
gave a new turn to my thoughts and character. My brother, 



Murad, has doubtless told you that our difference of opinion, on 
the subject of predestination, produced between us frequent 
arguments ; but we could never convince one another, and 
we each have acted, through life, in consequence of our 
different beliefs. To this I attribute my success and his mis- 

"The first rise of my fortune, as you have probably heard from 
Murad, was owing to the scai-let dye, which I brought to perfec- 
tion with infinite difficulty. The powder, it is true, was acci- 
dentally found by me in our china vases ; but there it might 
have remained to this instant, useless, if I had not taken the 
pains to make it useful. I grant that we can only partially 
foresee and command events; yet on the use we make of our own 
powers, I think, depends our destiny. But, gentlemen, you 
would rather hear my adventures, perhaps, than my reflections ; 
and I am truly concerned, for your sakes, that I have no 
wonderful events to relate. I am sorry I cannot tell you of my 
having been lost in a sandy desert. I have never had the plague, 
nor even been shipwrecked: I have been all my life an inhabitant 
of Constantinople, and have passed my time in a very quiet and 
uniform manner. 

" The money I received from the sultan's favourite for my 
china vase, as my brother may have told you, enabled me to 
trade on a more extensive scale. I went on steadily with my 
business ; and made it my whole study to please my employers, 
by all fair and honourable means. This industry and civility 
succeeded beyond my expectations: in a few years, I was rich for 
a man in my way of business. 

" I will not proceed to trouble you with the journal of a pettv 
merchant's life ; I pass on to the incident which made a consi- 
derable change in my affairs. 

" A terrible fire broke out near the walls of the grand 
seignior's seraglio 4 : as you are strangers, gentlemen, you may 
not have heard of this event, though it produced so great a sen- 
sation in Constantinople. The vizier's superb palace was utterly 
consumed ; and the melted lead poured down from the roof of 
the mosque of St. Sophia. Various were the opinions formed by 

4 Vide Baron de Tott's Memoirs. 



my neighbours, respecting the cause of the conflagration. Some 
supposed it to be a punishment for the sultan's having neglected, 
one Friday, to appear at the mosque of St. Sophia ; others con- 
sidered it as a warning sent by Mahomet, to dissuade the Porte 
from persisting in a war in which we were just engaged. The 
generality, however, of the coffee-house politicians contented 
themselves with observing that it was the will of Mahomet that 
the palace should be consumed. Satisfied by this supposition, 
they took no precaution to prevent similar accidents in their own 
houses. Never were fires so common in the city as at this 
period ; scarcely a night passed without our being wakened by 
the cry of fire. 

"These frequent fires were rendered still more dreadful by 
villains, who were continually on the watch to increase the con- 
fusion by which they profited, and to pillage the houses of the 
sufferers. It was discovered that these incendiaries frequently 
skulked, towards evening, in the neighbourhood of the bezestein, 
'where the richest merchants store their goods ; some of these 
wretches were detected in throwing coundaks 5 , or matches, into 
the windows ; and if these combustibles remained a sufficient 
time, they could not fail to set the house on fire. 

" Notwithstanding all these circumstances, many even of 
those who had property to preserve continued to repeat, ' It is 
the will of Mahomet,' and consequently to neglect all means of 
preservation. I, on the contrary, recollecting the lesson I had 
learned from the sensible foreigner, neither suffered my spirits 
to sink with superstitious fears of ill luck, nor did I trust pre- 
sumptuously to my good fortune. I took every possible means 

5 " A coundak is a sort of combustible that consists only of a piece of 
tinder wrapped in brimstone matches, in the midst of a small bundle of 
pine shavings. This is the method usually employed by incendiaries — they 
lay this match by stealth behind a door, which they find open, or on a 
Window; and after setting it on fire, they make their escape. This is suffi- 
cient often to produce the most terrible ravages in a town where the houses, 
built with wood and painted with oil of spike, afford the easiest opportunity to 
the miscreant who is disposed to reduce them to ashes. The method em- 
ployed by the incendiaries, and which often escapes the vigilance of the 
masters of the houses, added to the common causes of fires, gave for some 
time very frequent causes of alarm.'" — Translation of Memoirs of Baron de 
Tott, vol. i. 



to secure myself. 1 never went to bed without having seen that 
all the lights and fires in the house were extinguished, and that 
I had a supply of water in the cistern. I had likewise learned 
from my Frenchman that wet mortar was the most effectual 
thing for stopping the progress of flames : I therefore had a 
quantity of mortar made up in one of my outhouses, which I 
could use at a moment's warning. These precautions were all 
useful to me : my own house, indeed, was never actually on fire, 
but the houses of my next door neighbours were no less than five 
times in flames, in the course of one winter. By my exertions, 
or rather by my precautions, they suffered but little damage ; 
and all my neighbours looked upon me as their deliverer and 
friend : they loaded me with presents, and offered more indeed 
than I would accept. All repeated that I was Saladin the Lucky. 
This compliment I disclaimed, feeling more ambitious of being 
called Saladin the Prudent. It is thus that what we call modesty 
is often only a more refined species of pride. But to pi-oceed 
with my story. 

bf One night I had been later than usual at supper, at a friend's 
house : none but the watch were in the streets, and even they, 
I believe, were asleep. 

" As I passed one of the conduits, which convey water to the 
city, I heard a trickling noise ; and, upon examination, I found 
that the cock of the water-spout was half turned, so that the 
water was running out. I turned it back to its proper place, 
thought it had been left unturned by accident, and walked on ; 
but I had not proceeded far before I came to another spout and 
another, which were in the same condition. I was convinced 
that this could not be the effect merely of accident, and suspected 
that some ill-intentioned persons designed to let out and waste 
the water of the city, that there might be none to extinguish any 
fire that should break out in the course of the night. 

" I stood still for a few moments, to consider how it would be 
most prudent to act. It would be impossible for me to run to 
all parts of the city, that I might stop the pipes that were run- 
ning to waste. I first thought of wakening the watch and the 
firemen, who were most of them slumbering at their stations ; 
but I reflected that they were perhaps not to be trusted, and 
that they were in a confederacy with the incendiaries; other- 



vrise, they would certainly, before this hour, have observed and 
stopped the running of the sewers in their neighbourhood. I 
determined to waken a rich merchant, called Damat Zade, who 
lived near me, and who had a number of slaves, whom he could 
send to different parts of the city, to prevent mischief, and give 
notice to the inhabitants of their danger. 

" He was a very sensible, active man, and one that could 
easily be wakened : he was not, like some Turks, an hour in 
recovering their lethargic senses. He was quick in decision 
and action ; and his slaves resembled their master. He despatched 
a messenger immediately to the grand vizier, that the sultan's 
safety might be secured ; and sent others to the magistrates, in 
each quarter of Constantinople. The large drums in the janissary 
aga's tower beat to rouse the inhabitants ; and scarcely had this 
been heard to beat half an hour before the fire broke out in the 
lower apartments of Damat Zade's house, owing to a counda/e, 
which had been left behind one of the doors. 

"The wretches who had prepared the mischief, came to enjoy 
it, and to pillage ; but they were disappointed. Astonished to 
find themselves taken into custody, they could not comprehend 
hew their designs had been frustrated. By timely exertions,, 
the fire in my friend's house was extinguished; and though 
fires broke out, during the night, in many parts of the city, but 
little damage was sustained, because there was time for precau- 
tions ; and by the stopping of the spouts, sufficient water was 
preserved. People were awakened, and warned of the danger, 
and they consequently escaped unhurt. 

" The next day, as soon as I made my appearance at the 
bezestein, the merchants crowded round, called me their bene- 
factor, and the preserver of their lives and fortunes. Damat 
Zade, the merchant whom I had awakened the preceding night, 
presented to me a heavy purse of gold, and put upon my finger 
a diamond ring of considerable value; each of the merchants 
followed his example, in making me rich presents : the magi- 
strates also sent me tokens of their approbation ; and the grand 
vizier sent me a diamond of the first water, with a line written 
by his own hand : 1 To the man who has saved Constantinople.' 
Excuse me, gentlemen, for the vanity I seem to show in men- 
tioning these circumstances. You desired to hear my history, 

Popular Tales. t 



and I cannot therefore omit the principal circumstance of my 
life. In the course of four-and-twenty hours, I found myself 
raised, by the munificent gratitude of the inhabitants of this city, 
to a state of affluence far beyond what I had ever dreamed of 

"I now took a house suited to my circumstances, and bought 
a few slaves. As I was carrying my slaves home, I was met by 
a Jew, who stopped me, saying, in his language, ' My lord, I see, 
has been purchasing slaves: I could clothe them cheaply.' 
There was something mysterious in the manner of this Jew, and 
I did not like his countenance; but I considered that I ought 
not to be governed by caprice in my dealings, and that, if this 
man could really clothe my slaves more cheaply than another, I 
ought not to neglect his offer merely because I took a dislike to 
the cut of his beard, the turn of his eye, or the tone of his voice, 
I therefore bade the Jew follow me home, saying that I would 
consider of his proposal. 

" When we came to talk over the matter, I was surprised to 
find him so reasonable in his demands. On one point, indeed, 
he appeared unwilling to comply. I required not only to see 
the clothes I was offered, but also to know how they came into 
his possession. On this subject he equivocated ; I therefore 
suspected there must be something wrong. I reflected what it 
could be, and judged that the goods had been stolen, or that 
they had been the apparel of persons who had died of some 
contagious distemper. The Jew showed me a chest, from which 
he said I might choose whatever suited me best. I observed, 
that as he was going to unlock the chest, he stuffed his nose 
with some aromatic herbs. He told me that he did so to prevent 
his smelling the musk with which the chest was perfumed : 
musk, he said, had an extraordinary effect upon his nerves. I 
begged to have some of the herbs which he used himself; de- 
claring that musk was likewise offensive to me. 

" The Jew, either struck by his own conscience, or observing 
my suspicions, turned as pale as death. He pretended he had 
not the right key, and could not unlock the chest; said he must 
go in search of it, and that he would call on me again. 

" After he had left me, I examined some writing upon the lid 
of the chest that had been nearly effaced. I made out tb- 



word Smyrna, and this was sufficient to confirm all my suspicions. 
The Jew returned no more : he sent some porters to carry away 
the chest, and I heard nothing of him for some time, till one 
day when I was at the house of Damat Zade, I saw a glimpse 
of the Jew passing hastily through one of the courts, as if he 
wished to avoid me. 'My friend,' said I to Damat Zade, 'do 
not attribute my question to impertinent curiosity, or to a desire 
to intermeddle with your affairs, if I venture to ask the nature 
of your business with the Jew, who has just now crossed your 
court V 

" ' He has engaged to supply me with clothing for my slaves,' 
replied my friend, 'cheaper than I can purchase it elsewhere. I 
have a design to surprise my daughter, Fatima, on her birthday, 
with an entertainment in the pavilion in the garden ; and 
all her female slaves shall appear in new dresses on the occa- 

" I interrupted my friend, to tell him what I suspected relative 
to this Jew and his chest of clothes. It is certain that the in- 
fection of the plague can be communicated by clothes, not only 
after months but after years have elapsed. The merchant re- 
solved to have nothing more to do with this wretch, who could 
thus hazard the lives of thousands of his fellow-creatures for a 
few pieces of gold: we sent notice of the circumstance to the 
cadi, but the cadi was slow in his operations ; and, before he 
could take the Jew into custody, the cunning fellow had effected 
his escape. When his house was searched, he and his chest h'ad 
disappeared : we discovered that he sailed for Egypt, and re- 
joiced that we had driven him from Constantinople. 

" My friend, Damat Zade, expressed the warmest gratitude 2o 
me. ' You formerly saved my fortune : you have now saved my 
life ; and a life yet dearer than my own, that of my daughter 

" At the sound of that name I could not, I believe, avoid 
showing some emotion. 1 had accidentally seen this lady ; and 
I had been captivated by her beauty, and by the sweetness of 
her countenance ; but as I knew she was destined to be the wife 
of another, I suppressed my feeling, and determined to banish 
the recollection of the fair Fatima for ever from my imagination. 
Her father, however, at this instant, threw into my 'way 

t 2 



temptation, which it required all my fortitude to resist. 'Saladm, 
continued he, 'it is but just that you, who have saved our lives, 
should share our festivity. Come here on the birthday of' my 
Fatima: I will place you in a balcony, which overlooks the 
garden, and you shall see the whole spectacle. We shall have a 
feast of tulips, in imitation of that which, as you know, is held 
in the grand seignior's gardens. I assure you, the sight will be 
worth seeing; and besides, you will have a chance of beholding 
my Fatima, for a moment, without her veil.' 

" 'That,' interrupted I, 'is the thing I most wish to avoid. I 
dare not indulge myself in a pleasure which might cost me the 
happiness of my life. I will conceal nothing from you, who 
treat me with so much confidence. I have already beheld the 
charming countenance of your Fatima, but I know that she is 
destined to be the wife of a happier man.' 

"DamatZade seemed much pleased by the frankness with 
which I explained myself ; but he would not give up the idea of 
my sitting with him, in the balcony, on the day of the feast of 
tulips ; and I, on my part, could not consent to expose myself to 
another view of the charming Fatima. My friend used every 
argument, or rather every sort of persuasion, he could imagine to 
prevail upon me : he then tried to laugh me out of my resolution ; 
and, when all failed, he said, in a voice of anger, ' Go, then, 
Saladin ; I am sure you are deceiving me : you have a passion 
for some other woman, and you would conceal it from me, and 
peYsuade me you refuse the favour I offer you from prudence, 
when, in fact, it is from indifference and contempt. Why could 
you not speak the truth of your heart to me with that frankness 
with which one friend should treat another?' 

" Astonished at this unexpected charge, and at the anger 
which flashed from the eyes of Damat Zade, who till this moment 
had always appeared to me a man of a mild and reasonable 
temper, I was for an instant tempted to fly into a passion and 
leave him : but friends, once lost, are not easily regained. This 
consideration had power sufficient to make me command my 
temper. ' My friend,' replied I, ' we will talk over this affair to- 
morrow : you are now angry, and cannot do me justice; but to- 
morrow you will be cool : you will then be convinced that I have 
r.ot deceived you ; and that I have no design but to secure my 



own happiness, by the most prudent means in my power, by 
avoiding the sight of the dangerous Fatima. I have no passion 
for any other woman.' 

" 4 Then,' said my friend, embracing me, and quitting the tone 
of anger which he had assumed only to try my resolution to the 
utmost, ' then, Saladin, Fatima is yours.' 

" I scarcely dared to believe my senses ! I could not express 
my joy! 'Yes, my friend,' continued the merchant, 'I have 
tried your prudence to the utmost ; it has been victorious, and I 
resign my Fatima to you, certain that you will make her happy. 
It is true, I had a greater alliance in view for her : the pacha of 
Maksoud has demanded her from me ; but I have found, upon 
private inquiry, he is addicted to the intemperate use of opium : 
and my daughter shall never be the wife of one who is a violent 
madman one half the day, and a melancholy idiot during the 
remainder. I have nothing to apprehend from the pacha's re- 
sentment, because I have powerful friends with the grand vizier 
who will oblige him to listen to reason, and to submit quietly 
to a disappointment he so justly merits. And now, Saladin, 
have you any objection to seeing the feast of tulips?' 

" I replied only by falling at the merchant's feet, and em- 
bracing his knees. The feast of tulips came, and on that day I 
was married to the charming Fatima! The charming Fatima I 
continue still to think her, though she has now been my wife 
some years. She is the joy and pride of my heart; and, from 
our mutual affection, I have experienced more felicity than from 
all the other circumstances of my life, which are called so 
fortunate. Her father gave me the house in which I now live, and 
joined his possessions to ours ; so that I have more wealth even 
than I desire. My riches, however, give me continually the 
means of relieving the wants of others; and therefore I cannot 
affect to despise them. I must persuade my brother Murad to 
share them with me, and to forget his misfortunes : I shall then 
think myself completely happy. As to the sultana's looking-glass, 
and your broken vase, my dear brother," continued Saladin, 
"we must think of some means " 

" Think no more of the sultana's looking-glass, or of the broken 
vase," exclaimed the sultan, throwing aside his merchant's 
habit, and showing beneath it his own imperial vest. " Saladin, 



I rejoice to have heard, from your own lips, the history of your 
life. I acknowledge, vizier, I have been in the wrong, in our 
argument," continued the sultan, turning to his vizier. " I 
acknowledge that the histories of Saladin the Lucky, and Murad 
the Unlucky, favour your opinion, that prudence has more 
influence than chance in human affairs. The success and 
happiness of Saladin seem to me to have arisen from his 
prudence : by that prudence, Constantinople has been saved 
from flames, and from the plague. Had Murad possessed his 
brother's discretion, he would not have been on the point of 
losing his head, for selling rolls which he did not bake : he 
would not have been kicked by a mule, or bastinadoed for find- 
ing a ring : he would not have been robbed by one party of 
soldiers, or shot by another : he would not have been lost in a 
desert, or cheated by a Jew : he would not have set a ship on 
fire ; nor would he have caught the plague, and spread it 
through Grand Cairo : he would not have run my sultana's 
looking-glass through the body, instead of a robber : he would 
not have believed that the fate of his life depended on certain 
verses on a china vase : nor would he, at last, have broken this 
precious talisman, by washing it with hot water. Henceforward, 
let Murad the Unlucky be named Murad the Imprudent: let 
Saladin preserve the surname he merits, and be henceforth 
called Saladin the Prudent." 

So spake the sultan, who, unlike the generality of monarchs, 
could bear to find himself in the wrong ; and could discover his 
vizier to be in the right, without cutting off his head. History 
farther informs vis that the sultan offered to make Saladin a 
pacha, and to commit to him the government of a province ; 
but Saladin the Prudent declined this honour, saying he had no 
ambition, was perfectly happy in his present situation, and that, 
when this was the case, it would be folly to change, because no 
one can be more than happy. What farther adventures befel 
Murad the Imprudent are not recorded; it is known only that 
he became a daily visitor to the Teriahj ; and that he died a 
martyr to the immoderate use of opium . 

Those among the Turks who give themselves up to an immoderate uso 
of opium are easily to be distinguished by a sort of rickety complaint, wnicli 



-this poison produces in course of time. Destined to live agreeably only 
-when in a sort of drunkenness, these men present a curious spectacle, when 
they are assembled in a part of Constantinople called Teriaky or Tcharkissy, 
the market of opium-eaters. It is there that, towards the evening, you may 
see the lovers of opium arrive by the different streets which terminate at the 
Solymania (the greatest mosque in Constantinople): their pale and melan- 
choly countenances would inspire only compassion, did not their stretched 
necks, their heads twisted to the right or left, their back-bones crooked, one 
shoulder up to their ears, and a number of other whimsical attitudes, which 
are the consequences of the disorder, present the most ludicrous and the 
most laughable picture. — Vide De Tott's Memoirs. 

Jim. 1802. 



By patient persevering attention to business, Mr. John Darford 
succeeded in establishing a considerable cotton manufactory, by 
means of which he secured to himself in his old age what is 
called, or what he called, a competent fortune. His ideas of a 
competent fortune were, indeed, rather unfashionable ; for they 
included, as he confessed, only the comforts and conveniences, 
without any of the vanities of life. He went farther still in his 
unfashionable singularities of opinion, for he was often heard to 
declare that he thought a busy manufacturer might be as happy 
as any idle gentleman. 

Mr. Darford had taken his two nephews, Charles and William, 
into partnership with him : William, who had been educated by 
him, resembled him in character, habits, and opinions. Always 
active and cheerful, he seemed to take pride and pleasure in the 
daily exertions and care which his situation, and the trust re- 
posed in him, required. Far from being ashamed of his occu- 
pations, he gloried in them ; and the sense of duty was associated 
in his mind with the idea of happiness. His cousin Charles, on 
the contrary, felt his duty and his ideas of happiness continually 
at variance : he had been brought up in an extravagant family, 
who considered tradesmen and manufacturers as a caste dis- 
graceful to polite society. Nothing but the utter ruin of his 
father's fortune could have determined him to go into business. 

He never applied to the affairs of the manufactory ; he 
affected to think his understanding above such vulgar concerns, 
and spent his days in regretting that his brilliant merit was 
buried in obscurity. 

He was sensible that he hazarded the loss of his uncle's favour 
by the avowal of his prejudices; yet such was his habitual con- 



ceit, that he could not suppress frequent expressions of contemot 
for Mr. Darford's liberal notions. Whenever his uncle's opinion 
differed from his own, he settled the argument, as he fancied, by 
saying to himself or to his clerk, " My uncle Darford knows 
nothing of the world : how should he, poor man ! shut up as he 
has been all his life in a counting-house?" 

Nearly sixty years' experience, which his uncle sometimes 
pleaded as an apology for trusting to his own judgment, availed 
nothing in the opinion of our prejudiced youth. 

Prejudiced youth, did we presume to say? Charles would 
have thought this a very improper expression ; for he had no 
idea that any but old men could be prejudiced. Uncles, and 
fathers, and grandfathers, were, as he thought, the race of beings 
peculiarly subject to this mental malady; from which all young 
men, especially those who have their boots made by a fashion- 
able bootmaker, are of course exempt. 

At length the time came when Charles was at liberty to follow 
his own opinions : Mr. Darford died, and his fortune and manu- 
factory were equally divided between his two nephews. " Now," 
said Charles, " I am no longer chained to the oar. I will leave 
you, William, to do as you please, and drudge on, day after day, 
in the manufactory, since that is your taste : for my part, I have 
no genius for business. I shall take my pleasure ; and all I 
have to do is to pay some poor devil for doing my business for 

" I am afraid the poor devil will not do your business as well 
as you would do it yourself," said William: "you know the 
proverb of the master's eye." 

"True! true! Very likely," cried Charles, going to the 
window to look at a regiment of dragoons galloping through the 
town ; " but I have other employment for my eyes. Do look 
at those fine fellows who are galloping by ! Did you ever see a 
handsomer uniform than the colonel's? And what a fine horse! 
'Gad ! I wish I had a commission in the army : I should so like 
to be in his place this minute." 

" This minute ? Yes, perhaps, you would ; because he has, 
as you say, a handsome uniform and a fine horse : but all his 
minutes may not be like this minute." 

"Faith, William, that is almost as soberly said as my old 



uncle himself could have spoken. See what it is to live shut up 
with old folks ! You catch all their ways, and grow old and 
wise before your time." 

"The danger of growing wise before my time does not 
alarm me much : but perhaps, cousin, you feel that danger more 
than I do?" 

"Not I," said Charles, stretching himself still farther out of 
the window to watch the dragoons, as they were forming on the 
parade in the market-place. " I can only say, as I said before, 
that I wish I had been put into the army instead of into this 
cursed cotton manufactory. Now the army is a genteel profes- 
sion, and I own I have spirit enough to make it my first object 
to look and live like a gentleman." 

"And I have spirit enough," replied William, "to make it 
my first object to look and live like an independent man ; and I 
think a manufacturer, whom you despise so much, may be per- 
fectly independent. I am sure, for my part, I am heartily 
obliged to my uncle for breeding me up to business ; for now I 
am at no man's orders ; no one can say to me, ' Go to the east, 
or go to the west ; march here, or march there ; fire upon this 
man, or run your bayonet into that.' I do not think the honour 
and pleasure of wearing a red coat, or of having what is called a 
genteel profession, would make me amends for all that a soldier 
must suffer, if he does his duty. Unless it were for the defence 
of my country, for which I hope and believe I should fight as 
well as another, I cannot say that I should like to be hurried 
away from my wife and children, to fight a battle against people 
with whom I have no quarrel, and in a cause which perhaps I 
might not approve of." 

" Well, as you say, William, you that have a wife and children 
are quite in a different situation from me. You cannot leave 
them, of course. Thank my stars, I am still at liberty, and I 
shall take care and keep myself so: my plan is to live for myself, 
and to have as much pleasure as I possibly can." 

Whether this plan of living for himself was compatible with 
the hopes of having as much pleasure as possible, we leave it to 
the heads and hearts of our readers to decide. In the mean time 
we must proceed with his history. 

Soon after this conversation had passed between the two part- 



ners, another opportunity occurred of showing their characters 
still more distinctly. 

A party of ladies and gentlemen, travellers, came to the town, 
and wished to see the manufactories there. They had letters of 
recommendation to the Mr. Darfords ; and William, with great 
good-nature, took them to see their works. He pointed out to 
them, with honest pride, the healthy countenances of the chil- 
dren whom they employed. 

"You see," said he, "that we cannot be reproached with 
sacrificing the health and happiness of our fellow-creatures to 
our own selfish and mercenary views. My good uncle took all 
the means in his power to make every person concerned in this 
manufactory as happy as possible ; and I hope we shall follow 
his example. I am sure the riches of both the Indies could not 
satisfy me, if my conscience reproached me with having gained 
wealth by unjustifiable means. If these children were over- 
worked, or if they had not fresh air and wholesome food, it would 
be the greatest misery to me to come into this room and look at 
them. I could not do it. But, on the contrary, knowing, as I 
do, that they are well treated and well provided for in every 
respect, I feel joy and pride in coming amongst them, and in 
bringing my friends here." 

William's eyes sparkled, as he thus spoke the generous senti- 
ments of his heart ; but Charles, who had thought himself 
obliged to attend the ladies of the party to see the manufactory,, 
evidently showed he was ashamed of being considered as a part- 
ner. William, with perfect simplicity, went on to explain every 
part of the machinery, and the whole process of the manufac- 
ture ; whilst his cousin Charles, who thought he should that way 
show his superior liberality and politeness, every now and then 
interposed with, " Cousin, I'm afraid we are keeping the ladies 
too long standing. Cousin, this noise must certainly annoy the 
ladies horridly. Cousin, all this sort of thing cannot be very 
interesting, I apprehend, to the ladies. Besides, they won't have 
time, at this rate, to see the china-works ; which is a style of 
thing more to their taste, I presume." 

The fidgeting impatience of our hero was extreme ; till at last 
he gained his point, and hurried the ladies away to the china- 
works. Amongst these ladies there was one who claimed parti- 



cular attention, Miss Maude Germaine, an elderly young lady, 
who, being descended from a high family, thought herse-lf enti- 
tled to be proud. She was yet more vain than proud, and found 
her vanity in some degree gratified by the officious attention of 
her new acquaintance, though she affected to ridicule him to her 
companions, when she could do so unobserved. She asked them, 
in a whisper, how they liked her new cicerone ; and whether he 
did not show the lions very prettily, considering who and what 
he was 1 

It has been well observed "that people are never ridiculous by 
what they are, but by what they pretend to be 1 ." These ladies, 
with the best dispositions imaginable for sarcasm, could find 
nothing to laugh at in Mr. William Darford's plain unassuming 
manners ; as he did not pretend to be a fine gentleman, there 
was no absurd contrast between his circumstances and his con- 
versation; while almost every word, look, or motion of his cousin 
was an object of ridicule, because it was affected. His being 
utterly unconscious of his foibles, and perfectly secure in the 
belief of his own gentility, increased the amusement of the com- 
pany. Miss Maude Germaine undertook to play him off, but shp 
took sufficient care to prevent his suspecting her design. As 
they were examining the beautiful china, she continually ap- 
pealed to Mr. Charles Darford, as a man of taste ; and he, with 
awkward gallantry, and still more awkward modesty, always 
began his answers by protesting he was sure Miss Maude Ger- 
maine was infinitely better qualified to decide in such matters 
than he was : he had not the smallest pretensions to taste ; but 
that, in his humble opinion, the articles she pitched upon were 
evidently the most superior in elegance, and certainly of the 
newest fashion. " Fashion, you know, ladies, is all in all in 
these things, as in every thing else." 

Miss Germaine, with a degree of address which afforded much 
amusement to herself and her companions, led him to extol or 
reprobate whatever she pleased ; and she made him pronounce 
an absurd eulogium on the ugliest thing in the room, by observing 
it was vastly like what her friend, Lady Mary Crawley, had just 
bought for her chimney-piece. 

1 Roclicfoucault. 



Not content with showing she could make our man of taste 
decide as she thought proper, she was determined to prove that 
she could make him reverse his own decisions, and contradict 
himself, as often as she pleased. They were at this instant 
standing opposite to two vases of beautiful workmanship. 
" Now," whispered she to one of her companions, " I will lay 
you any wager I first make him say that both those vases are 
frightful ; then that they are charming ; afterward that he does 
not know which he likes best ; next, that no person of any taste 
can hesitate betwixt them; and at last, when he has pronounced 
his decided humble opinion, he shall reverse his judgment, and 
protest he meant to say quite the contrary." 

All this the lady accomplished much to her satisfaction and 
to that of her friends ; and so blind and deaf is self-love, our 
hero neither heard nor saw that he was the object of derision. 
William, however, was rather more clear-sighted ; and as he 
could not bear to see his cousin make himself the butt of the 
company, he interrupted the conversation, by begging the ladies 
would come into another room to look at the manner in which 
the china was painted. Charles, with a contemptuous smile, 
observed that the ladies woidd probably find the odour of the 
paint rather too much for their nerves. Full of the sense of his 
own superior politeness, he followed ; since it was determined 
that they must go, as he said, nolens volens. He did not hear 
Miss Germaine whisper to her companions as they passed, "Can 
any thing in nature be much more ridiculous than a vulgar 
manufacturer, who sets up for a fine gentleman ? " 

Amongst the persons who were occupied in painting a set of 
china with flowers, there was one who attracted particular 
attention, by the ease and quickness with which she worked. An 
iris of her painting was produced, which won the admiration of 
all the spectators ; and whilst Charles was falling into ecstasies 
about the merit of the painting, and the perfection to which the 
arts are now carried in England, William was observing the 
flushed and unhealthy countenance of the young artist. Ho 
stopped to advise her not to overwork herself, to bog she would 
not sit in a draught of wind where she was placed, and to ask 
her, with much humanity, several questions concerning her health 
and her circumstances. 



Whilst he was speaking to her, he did not perceive that he had 
set his foot by accident on Miss Germaine's gown ; and, as she 
walked hastily on, it was torn in a deplorable manner. Charles 
apologized for his cousin's extreme absence of mind and rude- 
ness ; and with a candid condescension added, " Ladies, you 
must not think ill of my cousin William, because he is not quite 
so much your humble servant as I am: notwithstanding his little 
rusticities, want of polish, gallantry, and so forth, things that 
are not in eveiy man's power, I can assure you there is not a 
better man in the world ; except that he is so entirely given 
up to business, which indeed ruins a man for every thing 

The apologist little imagined he was at this moment infinitely 
more awkward and ill-bred than the person whom he affected to 
pity and to honour with his protection. Our hero continued to 
be upon the best terms possible with himself and with Miss 
Maude Germaine, during the remainder of this day. He disco- 
vered that this lady intended to pass a fortnight with a relation of 

hei-s in the town of . He waited upon her the next day, to 

give her an account of the manner in which he had executed 
some commissions about the choice of china with which she had 
honoured him. 

One visit led to another, and Charles Darford was delighted to 
find himself admitted into the society of such very genteel 
persons. At first, he was merely proud of being acquainted with 
a lady of Miss Maude Germaine's importance, and contented 
himself with boasting of it to all his acquaintance ; by degrees, 
he became more audacious ; he began to fancy himself in love 
with her, and to flatter himself she would not prove inexorable. 
The raillery of some of his companions piqued him to make 
good his boast; and he determined to pay his addresses to a 
lady, who, they all agreed, could never think of a man in 

Our hero was not entirely deluded by his vanity : the lady's 
coquetry contributed to encourage his hopes. Though she 
always spoke of him to her friends as a person whom it was im- 
possible she could ever think of for a moment, yet as soon as he 
made a declaration of his love to her, she began to consider that 
a manufacturer might have common sense, and even some 



judgment and taste. Her horror of people in business con- 
tinued in full force ; but she began to allow there was no 
general rule that did not admit of an exception. "When her 
female friends laughed, following the example she had set them, 
at Charles Darford, her laughter became fainter than theirs ; and 
she was one evening heard to ask a stranger, who saw him for 
the first time, whether that young gentleman looked as if he 
was in business ? 

Sundry matters began to operate in our hero's favour . pre- 
cedents, opportunely produced by her waiting-maid, of ladies of 
the first families in England, ladies even of the first fashion, who 
had married into mercantile houses ; a present, too, from her 
admirer of the beautiful china vase, of which she had so often 
made him change his opinion, had its due effect ; but the pre- 
ponderating motive was the dread of dying an old maid, if she 
did not accept of this offer. 

After various airs, and graces, and doubts, and disdains, this 
fair lady consented to make her lover happy, on the express 
condition that he should change his name from Darford to 
Germaine. that he should give up all share in the odious cotton 
manufactory, and that he should purchase the estate of Ger- 
maine-park, in Northamptonshire, to part with which, as it 
luckily happened, some of her great relations were com- 

In the folly of his joy, at the prospect of an alliance with the 
great Germaine family, he promised every thing that was re- 
quired of him, notwithstanding the remonstrances of his friend 
William, who represented to him, in the forcible language of 
common sense, the inconveniences of marrying into a family that 
would despise him ; and of uniting himself to such an old 
coquette as Miss Germaine, who would make him not only a 
disagreeable but a most extravagant wife. 

" Do you not see," said he, "that she has not the least 
affection for you ? she marries you only because she despairs of 
getting any other match ; and because you are rich, and she is 
poor. She is seven years older than you, by her own confession, 
and consequently will be an old woman whilst you are a young 
man. She is, as you see — I mean as I see — vain and proud in 
the extreme ; and if she honours you with her hand, she will 



thiint you can never do enough to make her amends for having 
married beneath her pretensions. Instead of finding in her, as 
I find in my wife, the best and most affectionate of friends, you 
will find her your torment through life; and consider, this is a 
torment likely to last these thirty or forty years. Is it not 
worth while to pause — to reflect for as many minutes, or even 
days? " 

Charles paused double the number of seconds, perhaps, and 
then replied, " You have married to please yourself, cousin 
William, and I shall marry to please myself. As I don't mean 
to spend my days in the same style in which you do, the same 
sort of wife that makes you happy could never content me. I 
mean to make some figure in the world ; I know no other use of 
fortune; and an alliance with the Germaines brings me at once 
into fashionable society. Miss Maude Germaine is very proud, 
I confess ; but she has some reason to be proud of her family ; 
and then, you see, her love for me conquers her pride, great 
as it is." 

William sighed when he saw the extent of his cousin's 
folly. The partnership between the two Darfords was dis- 

It cost our hero much money but no great trouble to get his 
name changed from Darford to Germaine ; and it was certainly 
very disadvantageous to his pecuniary interest to purchase 
Germaine-park, which was sold to him for at least three years' 
purchase more than its value : but, in the height of his impatience 
to get into the fashionable world, all prudential motives appeared 
beneath his consideration. It was, as he fancied, part of the 
character of a man of sprit, the character he was now to assume 
and support for life, to treat pecuniary matters as below his 
notice. He bought Germaine-park, married Miss Germaine, 
and determined no mortal should evtr find out, by his equipages 
or style of life, that he had not been born the possessor of this 

In this laudable resolution, it cannot possibly be doubted but 
that his bride encouraged him to the utmost of her power. She 
was eager to leave the county where his former friends and ac- 
quaintance resided; for they were people with whom, of course, 
it could not be expected that she should keep up any manner of 

Popular Tales. u 



intercourse. Charles, in whose mind vanity at this moment 
smothered every hetter feeling, was in reality glad of a pretext 
for breaking off all connexion with those whom he had formerly 
loved. He went to take leave of William in a fine chariot, on 
which the Germain e arms were ostentatiously blazoned. That 
real dignity, which arises from a sense of independence of mind, 
appeared in William's manners ; and quite overawed and abashed 
our hero, in the midst of all his finery and airs. "I hope, 
cousin William," said Charles, "when you can spare time, 
though, to be sure, that is a thing hardly to be expected, as you 
are situated ; but, in case you should be able any ways to make 
it convenient, I hope you will come and take a look at what we 
are doing at Germaine-park. " 

There was much awkward embarrassment in the enunciation 
of this feeble invitation : for Charles was conscious he did not 
desire it should he accepted, and that it was made in direct 
opposition to the wishes of his bride. He was at once relieved 
from his perplexity, and at the same time mortified, by the calm 
simplicity with which William replied, " I thank you, cousin, 
for this invitation ; but you know I should be an encumbrance 
to you at Germaine-park : and I make it a rule neither to go 
into any company that would be ashamed of me, or of which I 
should be ashamed." 

" Ashamed of you ! But — What an idea, my dear W r illiam ! 
Surely you don't think — you can't imagine — I should ever con- 
sider you as any sort of encumbrance ? — I protest " 

" Save yourself the trouble of protesting, my dear Charles," 
cried William, smiling with much good-nature : " I know why 
you are so much embarrassed at this instant ; and I do not attri- 
bute this to any want of affection for me. We are going to lead 
quite different lives. I wish you all manner of satisfaction. 
Perhaps the time may come when I shall be able to contribute 
to your happiness more than I can at present." 

Charles uttered some unmeaning phrases, and hurried to his 
carriage. At the sight of its varnished panels he recovered his 
self-complacency and courage, and began to talk fluently about 
chariots and horses, whilst the children of the family followed to 
take leave of him, saying, " Are you going quite away, Charles? 
Will you never come back to play with us, as you used to do ?" 



Charles stepped into his carriage with as much dignity as he 
could assume ; which, indeed, was very little. William, who 
judged of his friends always with the most benevolent indul- 
gence, excused the want of feeling which Charles betrayed during 
this visit. "My dear," &aid he to his wife, who expressed some 
indignation at the slight shown to their children, " we must for- 
give him ; for, you know, a man cannot well think of more than 
one thing at a time ; and the one thing that he is thinking of is 
his fine chariot. The day will come when he will think more 
of fine children ; at least I hope so, for his own sake." 

And now, behold our hero in all his glory ; shining upon the 
Northamptonshire world in the splendour of his new situation ! 
The dress, the ecmipage, the entertainments, and, above all, the 
airs of the bride and bridegroom, were the general subject of 
conversation in the county for ten days. Our hero, not pre- 
cisely knowing what degree of importance Mr. Germaine, 
of Germaine-park, was entitled to assume, out-Germained Ger- 

The country gentlemen first stared, then laughed, and at last 
unanimously agreed, over their bottle, that this new neighbour 
of theirs was an upstart, who ought to be kept down ; and that a 
vulgar manufacturer should not be allowed to give himself airs 
merely because he had married a proud lady of good family. It 
was obvious, they said, he was not born for the situation in which 
he now appeared. They remarked and ridiculed the ostentation 
with which he displaj-ed every luxury in his house ; his habit of 
1 naming the price of every thing, to enforce its claim to admira- 
tion ; his affected contempt for economy ; his anxiety to connect 
himself with persons of rank, joined to his ignorance of the 
genealogy of nobility, and the strange mistakes he made between 
old and new titles. 

Certain little defects in his manners, and some habitual 
vulgarisms in his conversation, exposed him also to the derision 
of his well-bred neighbours. Mr. Germaine saw that the gentle- 
men of the county were leagued against him ; but he had 
neither temper nor knowledge of the world sufficient to wage 
this unequal war. The meanness with which he alternately 
attempted to court and to bully his adversaries, shewed them, at 
once, the full extent of their power and of his weakness. 
v 2 



Things were in this position when our hero unluckily affronted 
Mr. Cole, one of the proudest gentlemen in the county, by mis- 
taking him for a merchant of the same name; and, under this 
mistake, neglecting to return his visit. A few days afterwards 
at a public dinner, Mr. Cole and Mr. Germaine had some high 
words, which were repeated by the persons present in various 
manners; and this dispute became the subject of conversation 
in the county, particularly amongst the ladies. Each related, 
according to her fancy, what her husband had told her ; and as 
these husbands had drunk a good deal, they had not a perfectly 
clear recollection of what had passed, so that the whole and every 
part of the conversation was exaggerated. The fair judges, 
averse as they avowed their feelings were to duelling, were 
clearly of opinion, among themselves, that a real gentleman 
would certainly have called Mr. Cole to account for the words 
he uttered, though none of them could agree what those words 

Mrs. Germaine's female friends, in their coteries, were the 
first to deplore, with becoming sensibility, that she should be 
married to a man who had so little the spirit as well as the 
manners of a man of birth. Their pity became progressively 
vehement the more they thought of, or at least the more they 
talked of, the business ; till at last one old lady, the declared 
and intimate friend of Mrs. Germaine, unintentionally, and in 
the heat of tattle, made use of one phrase that led to another, 
and another, till she betrayed, in conversation with that lady, the 
gossiping scandal of these female circles. 

Mrs. Germaine, piqued as her pride was, and though she had 
little affection for her husband, would have shuddered with 
horror to have imagined him in the act of fighting a duel, and 
especially at her instigation ; yet of this very act she became the 
cause. In their domestic quarrels, her tongue was ungovern- 
able : and at such moments, the malice of husbands and wives 
often appears to exceed the hatred of the worst of foes ; and, 
in the ebullition of her vengeance, when his reproaches had 
stung her beyond the power of her temper to support, un- 
able to stop her tongue, she vehemently told him he was 
a coward, who durst not so talk to a man ! He had 
proved himself a coward ; and was become the by-word and 



contempt of the whole county ! Even women despised his 
cowardice ! 

However astonishing it may appear to those who are un- 
acquainted with the nature of quarrels between man and wife, 
it is but too certain that such quarrels have frequently led to the 
most fatal consequences. The agitation of mind which Mrs. 
Germain e suffered the moment she could recollect what she had 
so rashly said, her vain endeavours to prove to herself that, so 
•provoked, she could not say less, and the sudden effect which 
she plainly saw her words had produced upon her husband, were 
but a part of the punishment that always follows conduct and 
contentions so odious. 

Mr. Germaine gazed at her a few moments with wildness in 
his eyes ; his countenance expressed the stupefaction of rage : 
he spoke not a word; but started at length, and snatched up his 
hat. She was struck with panic terror, gave a scream, sprang 
after him, caught him by the coat, and, with the most violent 
protestations, denied the truth of all she had said. The look he 
gave her cannot be described ; he rudely plucked the skirt from 
her grasp, and wished out of the house. 

All day and all night she neither saw nor heard of him : in 
the morning he was brought home, accompanied by a surgeon, 
in the carriage of a gentleman who had been his second, dan- 
gerously wounded. 

He was six weeks confined to his bed; and, in the first 
moment of doubt expressed by the surgeon for his life, she 
expressed contrition which was really sincere : but, as he re- 
covered, former bickerings were renewed; and the terms on 
which they lived gradually became what they had been. 

Neither did his duel regain that absurd reputation for which 
he fought; it was malignantly said he had neither the courage 
to face a man, nor the understanding to govern a wife. 

Still, however, Mrs. Germaine consoled herself with the belief 
that the most shocking circumstance of his having been partner 
in a manufactory was a profound secret. Alas ! the fatal mo- 
ment arrived when she was to be undeceived in this her last 
hope. Soon after Mr. Germaine recovered from his wounds she 
.gave a splendid bail, to which the neighbouring nobility and 



gentry were invited. She made it a point, with all her ac- 
quaintance, to come on this grand night. 

The more importance the Germaines set upon success, and 
the more anxiety they betrayed, the more their enemies enjoyed 
the prospect of their mortification. All the young belles, who 
had detested Miss Maude Germaine for the airs she used to give 
herself at county assemblies, now leagued to prevent their ad- 
mirers from accepting her invitation. All the married ladies 
whom she had outshone in dress and equipage, protested they 
were not equal to keep up an acquaintance with such pro- 
digiously fine people ; and that, for their part, they must make 
a rule not to accept of such expensive entertainments, as it was 
not in their power to return them. 

Some persons of consequence in the county kept their deter- 
mination in doubt, suffered themselves to be besieged daily with 
notes and messages, and hopes that their imaginary coughs, 
head-aches, and influenzas, were better, and that they woula 
find themselves able to venture out on the 15th. When the 
coughs, head-aches, and influenzas, could hold out no longer, 
these ingenious tormentors devised new pretexts for supposing it 
would be impossible to do themselves the honour of accepting 
Mr. and Mrs. Germaine's obliging invitation on the 15th. Some 
had recourse to the roads, and others to the moon. 

Mrs. Germaine, whose pride was now compelled to make all 
manner of concessions, changed her night from the 15th to the 
20th, to insure a full moon to those timorous damsels whom she 
had known to go home nine miles from a ball the darkest night 
imaginable, without scruple or complaint. Mr. Germaine, at 
his own expense, mended some spots in the roads, which were 
obstacles to the delicacy of other travellers ; and when all this 
was accomplished, the haughty leaders of the county fashions 
condescended to promise they would do themselves the pleasure 
to wait upon Mr. and Mrs. Germaine on the 20th. 

Their cards of acceptation were shown with triumph by the 
Germaines ; but it was a triumph of short duration. With ail 
the refinement of cruelty, they gave hopes which they never 
meant to fulfil. On the morning, noon, and night, of the 20th, 
notes poured in with apologies, or rather with excuses, for not 



keeping their engagements. Scarcely one was burnt, before 
another arrived. Mrs. Germaine could not command her tem- 
per ; and she did not spare her husband in this trying moment. 

The arrival of some company for the ball interrupted a warm 
dispute between the happy pair. The ball was very thinly 
attended ; the guests looked as if they were more inclined to 
yawn than to dance. The supper table was not half filled ; and 
the profusion with which it was laid out was forlorn and melan- 
choly : every thing was on too grand a scale for the occasion ; 
wreaths of flowers, and pyramids, and triumphal arches, suffi- 
cient for ten times as many guests ! Even the most inconsiderate 
could not help comparing the trouble and expense incurred by 
the entertainment with the small quantity of pleasure it pro- 
duced. Most of the guests rose from table, whispering to one 
another, as they looked at the scarcely-tasted dishes, " What a 
waste ! What a pity ! Poor Mrs. Germaine ! What a melancholy 
sight this must be to her!" 

The next day, a mock heroic epistle, in verse, in the character 
of Mrs. Germaine, to one of her noble relations, giving an 
account of her ball and disappointment, was handed about, and 
innumerable copies were taken. It was written with some 
humour and great ill-nature. The good old lady who occasioned 
the duel, thought it but friendly to show Mrs. Germaine a copy 
of it ; and to beg she would keep it out of her husband's way : 
it might be the cause of another duel ! Mrs. Germaine, in spite 
of all her endeavours to conceal her vexation, was obviously so 
much hurt by this mock heroic epistle, that the laughers were 
encouraged to proceed; and the next week a ballad, entitled, 
"The Manufacturer turned Gentleman," was circulated with 
the same injunctions to secresy, and the same success. Mr. 
and Mrs. Germaine, perceiving themselves to be the objects of 
continual enmity and derision, determined to leave the county. 
Germaine-park was forsaken ; a house in London was bought ; 
and, for a season or two, our hero was amused with the gaieties 
of the town, and gratified by finding himself actually moving in 
that sphere of life to which he had always aspired. But he 
soon perceived that the persons whom, at a distance, he had 
regarded as objects of admiration and envy, upon a nearer view 
were capable of exciting only contempt or pity. Even in the 



company of honourable and right honourable men, he was fre- 
quently overpowered with ennui; and, amongst all the fine 
acquaintances with which his fine wife crowded his fine house, 
he looked in vain for a friend : he looked in vain for a William 

One evening, at Ranelagh, Chai-les happened to hear the tiame 
of Mr. William Darford pronounced by a lady who was walking 
behind him: he turned eagerly to look at her; but, thougn he 
had a confused recollection of having seen her face before, he 
could not remsmber when or where he had met with her. He 
felt a wish to speak to her, that he might hear something of 
those friends whom he had neglected, but not forgotten. He 
was not, however, acquainted with any of the persons with 
whom she was walking, and was obliged to give up his purpose. 
When she left the room, he followed her, in hopes of learning, 
from her servants, who she was ; but she had no servants — no 
carriage ! 

Mrs. Germaine, who clearly inferred she was a person of no 
consequence, besought her husband not to make any further 
inquiries. "I beg, Mr. Germaine, you will not gratifv your 
curiosity about the Darfords at my expense. I shall have a 
whole tribe of vulgar people upon my hands, if you do not take 
care. The Darfords, you know, are quite out of our line of life ; 
especially in town." 

This remonstrance had a momentary effect upon Mr. Ger- 
maine's vanity ; but a few days afterwards he met the same lady 
in the park, attended by Mr. William Darford's old servant. 
Regardless of his lady's representations, he followed the sug- 
gestions of his own heart, and eagerly stopped the man to 
inquire after his friends in the most affectionate manner. The 
servant, who was pleased to see that Charles was not grown 
quite so much a fine gentleman as to forget all his friends in the 
country, became very communicative ; he told Mr. Germaine 
that the lady, whom he was attending, was a Miss Locke, 
governess to Mr. William Darford's children ; and that she was 
now come to town to spend a few days with a relation, who had 
been very anxious to see her. This relation was not either rich 
or genteel ; and though our hero used every persuasion to prevail 
upon his lady to show Miss Locke some civility whilst she was 



in town, he could not succeed. Mrs. Germaine repeated her 
former phrase, again and again, " The Darfords are quite out 
of our line of life;" and this was the only reason she would give. 

Charles was disgusted by the obstinacy of his wife's pride, 
and indulged his better feelings by going frequently to visit 
Miss Locke. She stayed, however, but a fortnight in town ; and 
the idea of his friends, which had been strongly recalled by his 
conversations with her, gradually faded away. He continued 
the course of life into which he had been forced, rather from 
inability to stop than from inclination to proceed. Their winters 
were spent in dissipation in town ; their summers wasted at 
watering-places, or in visits to fine relations, who were tired of 
their company, and who took but little pains to conceal this 
sentiment. Those who do not live happily at home can seldom 
contrive to live respectably abroad. Mr. and Mrs. Germaine 
could not purchase esteem, and never earned it from the world 
or from one another. Their mutual contempt increased ever} 
day. Only those who have lived with bosom friends whom 
they despise can fully comprehend the extent and intensity of 
the evil. 

We spare our readers the painful detail of domestic grievances 
and the petty mortifications of vanity : from the specimens we 
Have already given they may form some idea, but certainly not 
a competent otie, of the manner in which this ill-matched pair 
continued to live together for twelve long years. Twelve long 
years ! The imagination cannot distinctly represent such a 
period of domestic suffering ; though, to the fancy of lovers, the 
eternal felicity to be ensured by their union is an idea perfectly 
familiar and intelligible. Perhaps, if we could bring our minds 
to dwell more upon the hours, and less upon the years of exist- 
ence, we should make fewer erroneous judgments. Our hero 
and heroine would never have chained themselves together for 
life, if they could have formed an adequate picture of the hours 
contained in the everlasting period of twelve years of wrangling. 
During this time, scarcely an hour, certainly not a day, passed 
in which they did not, directly or indirectly, reproach one 
another; and tacitly form, or explicitly express, the wish that 
tney had never been joined in holy wedlock. 

They, however, had a family. Children are either the surest 



bonds of anion between parents, or the most dangerous causes of 
discord. If parents agree in opinion as to the management of 
their children, they must be a continually increasing source of 
pleasure ; but where the father counteracts the mother, and the 
mother the father — where the children cannot obey or caress 
either of their parents without displeasing the other, what can 
they become but wretched little hypocrites, or detestable little 
tyrants ? 

Mr. and Mrs. Germaine had two children, a boy and a girl. 
From the moment of their birth, they became subjects of 
altercation and jealousy. The nurses were obliged to decide 
whether the infants were most like the father or the mother : 
two nurses lost their places, by giving what was, in Mr. Ger- 
maine's opinion, an erroneous decision upon this important 
question. Every stranger who came to pay a visit was obliged 
to submit to a course of interrogations on this subject; and 
afterwards, to their utter confusion, saw biting of lips, and 
tossing of heads, either on the paternal or maternal side. At 
last, it was established that Miss Maude was the most like her 
mamma, and master Charles the most like his papa. Miss 
Maude, of coui-se, became the faultless darling of her mother, 
and master Charles the mutinous favourite of his father. A 
comparison between their features, gestures, and manners, was 
daily instituted, and always ended in words of scorn, from one 
party or the other. Even whilst they were pampering these 
children with sweetmeats, or inflaming them with wine, the 
parents had always the same mean and selfish views. The 
mother, before she would let her Maude taste the sweetmeats, in- 
sisted upon the child's lisping out that she loved mamma best ; 
and before the little Charles was permitted to carry the bumper 
of wine to his lips, he was compelled to say he loved papa best. 
In all their childish quarrels, Maude ran roaring to her mamma, 
and Charles sneaked up to his papa. 

As the interests of the children were so deeply concerned in 
the question, it was quickly discovered who ruled in the house 
with the strongest hand. ' Mr. Germaine's influence over his son 
diminished, as soon as the boy was clearly convinced that his sis- 
ter, by adhering to her mamma, enjoyed a larger share of the good 
things. He was wearied out by the incessant rebuffs of the 



nursery-maids, who were all in their lady's interests ; and he 
endeavoured to find grace in their sight, by recanting all the 
declarations he had made in his father's favour. " I don't like 
papa best now : I love mamma best to-day." 

" Yes, master, but you must love mamma best every day, or 
it won't do, I promise you." 

By such a course of nursery precepts, these unfortunate 
children were taught equivocation, falsehood, envy, jealousy, 
and every fault of temper which could render them insupport- 
able to themselves, and odious to others. Those who have lived 
in the house with spoiled children must have a lively recollection 
of the degree of torment they can inflict upon all who are with- 
in sight or hearing. These domestic plagues became more and 
more obnoxious ; and Mrs. Germaine, in the bitterness of her 
heart, was heard to protest she wished she had never had a 
child ! Children were pretty things at three years old, but 
began to be great plagues at six, and were quite intolerable at 

Schools, and tutors, and governesses, were tried without 
number ; but those capricious changes served only to render the 
pupils still more unmanageable. At length Mr. and Mrs. Ger- 
maine 's children became so notoriously troublesome, that every 
body dreaded the sight of them. 

One summer, when Mrs. Germaine was just setting out on a 
visit to my Lady Mary Crawley, when the carriage was actually 
at the door, and the trunks tied on, an express arrived from her 
ladyship with a letter, stipulating that neither Miss Maude nor 
Master Charles should be of the party. Lady Mary declared she 
had suffered so much from their noise, quarrelling, and refractory 
tempers when they were with her the preceding summer, that 
she could not undergo such a trial again ; that their mother's 
nerves might support such things, but that hers really could not: 
besides, she could not, in justice and politeness to the other friends 
who were to be in her house, suffer them to be exposed to such 
torments. Lady Mary Crawley did not give herself any trouble 
to soften her expressions, because she would have been really glad 
if they had given offence, and if Mrs. Germaine had resented her 
conduct, by declining to pay that annual visit which was now 
Become, in the worst sense of the word, visitation. To what 



meanness proud people are often forced to submit! Rather than 
break her resolution never to spend another summer at her own 
country seat, Mrs. Geriuaine submitted to all the haughtiness of 
her Leicestershire relations, and continued absolutely to force 
upon them visits which she knew to be unwelcome. 

But what was to be done about her children ! The first thing, 
of course, was to reproach her husband. " You see, Mr. 
Germaine, the effect of the pretty education you have given that 
boy of yours. I am sure, if he had not gone with us last 
summer into Leicestershire, my Maude would not have been in 
the least troublesome to Lady Mary." 

" On the contrary, my dear, I have heard Lady Mary herself 
say, twenty times, that Charles was the best of the two; and I 
am persuaded, if Maude had been away, the boy would have 
become quite a favourite." 

" There you are utterly mistaken, I can assure you, my dear; 
for you know you are no great favourite of Lady Mary's yourself; 
and I have often heard her say that Charles is your image." 

" It is very extraordinary that all your great relations show 
us so little civility, my dear. They do not seem to have much 
regard for you." 

" They have regard enough for me, and showed it formerly; 
but of late, to be sure, I confess, things are altered. They never 
have been so cordial since my marriage, and, all things con- 
sidered, I scarcely know how to blame them." 

Mr. Germaine bowed, by way of thanking his lady for this 
compliment. She besought him not to bow so like a man 
behind a counter, if he could possibly help it. He replied, it 
became him to submit to be schooled by a wife, who was often 
taken for his mother. At length, when every species of 
reproach, mental and personal, which conjugal antipathy could 
suggest, had been exhausted, the orators reciu-red to the busi- 
ness of the day, and to the question, " What is to be done with 
the children whilst we are at Lady Mary Crawley's?" 




In this embarrassment we must leave the Germaines for the 
present, and refresh ourselves with a look at a happy circle — 
the family of Mr. Darford, where there is no discordance of 
opinions, of tastes, or of tempers ; none of those evils which arise 
sometimes from the disappointment and sometimes from the grati- 
fication of vanity and pride. 

Mr. Darford succeeded beyond his most sanguine expectations 
in the management of his business. Wealth poured in upon 
him ; but he considered wealth, like a true philosopher, only as 
one of the means of happiness : he did not become prodigal or 
avaricious; neither did he ever feel the slightest ambition to 
quit his own station in society. He never attempted to purchase 
from people of superior rank admission into their circles, by 
giving luxurious and ostentatious entertainments. He possessed 
a sturdy sense of his own value, and commanded a species of 
respect very different from that which is paid to the laced livery 
or the varnished equipage. 

The firmness of his character was, however, free from all 
severity : he knew how to pardon in others the weakness and 
follies from which he was himself exempt. Though his cousin 
was of such a different character, and though, since his marriage, 
Mr. Germaine had neglected his old friends, William felt more 
compassion for his unhappiness than resentment for his faults. 
In the midst of his own family, William would often say, " I wish 
poor Charles may ever be as happy as we are !" Frequently, in 
his letters to London correspondents, he desired them to inquire, 
privately, how Mr. Germaine went on. 

For some time he heard of nothing but his extravagance, and 
of the entertainments given to the fine world by Mrs. Germaine ; 
but in the course of a few years, his correspondents hinted that 
Mr. Germaine began to be distressed for money, and that this 
was a secret which had been scrupulously kept from his lady, as 
scrupulously as she concealed from him her losses at play. Mr. 
Darford also learned from a correspondent who was intimately 
acquainted with one of Mrs. Germaine's friends, that this lady 
lived upon very bad terms with her husband ; and that her 



children were terribly spoiled by the wretched education they 

These accounts gave William sincere concern : far from 
triumphing in the accomplishing of his prophecies, he never 
once recalled them to the memory even of his own family ; 
all his thoughts were intent upon saving his friend from future 

One day, as he was sitting with his family round their 
cheerful tea-table, his youngest boy, who had climbed upon 
his knees, exclaimed, " Papa ! what makes you so very grave 
to-night? You are not at all like yourself! What can make 
you sorry?" 

"My dear little boy," said his father, "I was thinking of a 
letter I received to-day from London." 

" I wish those letters would never come, for they always 
make you look sad, and make you sigh ! Mamma, why do 
you not desire the servants not to bring papa any more such 
letters? What did this letter say to you, papa, to make you so 
grave ?" 

"My dear," said his father, smiling at the child's simplicity, 
" this letter told me that your little cousin Charles is not quite so 
good a boy as you are." 

" Then, papa, I will tell you what to do : send our Miss 
Locke to cousin Charles, and she will soon make him very 

"I dare say she would," replied the father, laughing: ''but, 
my dear boy, I cannot send Miss Locke ; and I am afraid she 
would not like to go : besides, we should be rather sorry to part 
with her." 

"Then, papa, suppose you were to send for my cousin; 
and Miss Locke could take care of him here, without leaving 


" Could take care of him — true ; but would she ? If you can 
prevail upon her to do so, I will send for your cousin." 

The proposal, though playfully made, was seriously accepted 
by Miss Locke: and the more willingly, as she remembered, with 
gratitude, the attention Mr. Germaine had paid to her some 
years before, when with poor relations in London. 

Mr. Darford wrote immediately, to invite his cousin's children 



to his house ; and the invitation was most gladly accepted, for 
it was received the very day when Mr. and Mrs. Germaine were 
so much embarrassed by Lady Mary Crawley's absolute refusal 
to admit these children into her house. Mrs. Germaine was not 
too proud to accept of favours from those whom she had treated 
as beneath her acquaintance, "quite out of her line of life!" 
She despatched her children directly to Mr. Darford's ; and 
Miss Locke undertook the care of them. It was not an easy or 
agreeable task ; but she had great obligations to Mrs. Darford, 
and was rejoiced at finding an opportunity of showing her grati- 

Miss Locke was the young woman whose painting of an iris 
had been admired by Charles and by Miss Maude Germaine 
when they visited the china works, thirteen or fourteen years 
before this time. She was at that period very ill, and in great 
distress : her father had been a bankrupt, and to earn bread for 
herself and her sisters she was obliged to work harder than her 
health and strength allowed. Probably she would have fallen a 
sacrifice to her exertions, if she had not been saved by the 
humanity of Mr. Darford ; and, fortunately for him, he 
was married to a woman who sympathized in all his generous 
feelings, and who assisted him in every benevolent action. 

Mrs. Darford, after making sufficient inquiries as to the truth 
of the story, and the character of the girl, was so much pleased 
with all she heard of her merit, and so much touched by her 
misfortunes, that she took Miss Locke into her family to teach 
her daughters to draw. She well knew that a sense of depend- 
ence is one of the greatest evils ; and she was careful to relieve 
the person whom she obliged from this painful feeling, by giving 
her an opportunity of being daily useful to her benefactress. 
Miss Locke soon recovered her health : she perceived she might 
be serviceable in teaching the children of the family many things 
besides drawing; and, with unremitting perseverance, she in- 
formed her own mind, that she might be able to instruct her 
pupils. Year after year she pursued this plan ; and was re- 
warded by the esteem and affection of the happy family in which 
she lived. 

But though Miss Locke was a woman of great abilities, she had 
not the magical powers attributed to some characters in romance; 



she could not instantaneously produce a total reformation of 
manners. The habits of spoiled children are not to be changed 
by the most skilful preceptress, without the aid of time. Miss 
Maude Germaine and her brother had tempers which tried Miss 
Locke's patience to the utmost; but, gradually, she acquired 
some influence over these wayward spirits. She endeavoured 
with her utmost skill to eradicate the jealousy which had been 
implanted in the minds of the brother and sister. They found 
that they were now treated with strict impartiality, and they 
began to live together more peaceably. 

Time was willingly allowed to Miss Locke by their parents,, 
who were glad to be disencumbered of their children. Eighteen 
months passed away, and no news were heard of Mr. and Mrs. 
Germaine, except that they continued the same extravagant, 
dissipated course of life, and that they began to be much 
embarrassed in their circumstances. At last Mr. Darford 
received a letter which informed him that an execution was laid 
on Mr. Germaine's fine house in town; and that he and his 
family were all in the greatest distress and affliction. 

William hastened immediately to London. He was denied 
admittance at Mr. Germaine's : the porter, with an air of mys- 
tery, said that his master was ill, and did not choose to see any 
body. William, however, forced his way up stairs. 

Charles, at the sight of him, stepped back, exclaiming, " May 
I believe my eyes? William ! Is it you?" 

" Yes, it is William ; your old friend William," said Mr. 
Darford, embracing him affectionately. Pride and shame smug- 
gled in the mind of Charles ; and, turning aside to repress the 
tears, which in the first instance of emotion had started into his 
eyes, he went to the farthest end of the room for an arm-chair 
for his cousin, placed it with awkward ceremony, and said, 
" Won't you be seated, cousin Darford ? I am sure Mrs. Ger- 
maine and I are much indebted to you and Mrs. Darford, for 
your goodness to our children. I was just thinking of writing 
to you about them; — but we are in sad confusion here, just at 
this moment. I am quite ashamed — I did not expect — Why 
did you never honour us with a visit before ? I am sure you 
could not possibly have hit upon a more unlucky moment for a 
visit — for yourself, I mean." 



" If it proves lucky to you, my dear Charles," replied 
William mildly, " I shall think it the most fortunate moment 
I could possibly have chosen." 

Vanquished by the tone of this reply, our hero burst into tears: 
he squeezed his friend's hand, but could not speak. Reco- 
vering himself, after a few minutes, he said, " You are too good, 
cousin William, and always were ! I thought you called in by 
accident ; I had no supposition that you came on purpose to 
assist me in this moment of distress — embarrassment, I ought to 
say ; for, in fact, it is only a mere temporary embarrassment." 

" I am heartily glad to hear it. But, speak to me freely, 
Charles : do not conceal the real state of your affairs from your 
best friend. What tendency could this have but to plunge you 
into irretrievable ruin?" 

Charles paused for a minute. "The truth of the matter is, 
my dear William," continued he, "that there are circumstances 
in this business which I should be sorry reached Mrs. Germaine's 
ear, or any of her cursed proud relations ; for if once they heard 
of it, I should have no peace for the rest of my life. Indeed, as 
to peace, I cannot boast of much as it is : but it might be worse, 
much worse, if the whole truth came out. To you, however, I 
can trust it ; though in your line of life, it would be counted a 
shocking thing : but still you are so indulgent " 

William listened without being able to guess where this pre- 
amble would end. 

"In the first place," continued Charles, "you know — Mrs. 
Germaine is almost ten years older than I am." 

" Six years, I thought you formerly told me?" 

" I beg your pardon, ten — ten — within a few months. If I 
said six, it was before our marriage, when I knew no better. She 
owns to seven : her own relations say eight; said nine; 
and I say ten." 

1 Well, ten let it be, since you will have it so." 

' I should be very glad to have it otherwise, I promise you, if 
I could: for it is not very pleasant to a man like me, to be 
quizzed by half the young men of fashion in town, for having 
married a woman old enough to be my mother." 

" Not quite old enough to be your mother," said his cousin, 
in a conciliatory tone; "these young men of fashion are not the 

Popular Tales. x 



Lest calculators. Mrs. Germaine could not well have been your 
mother, since at the worst, by your own account, there is only 
ten years difference between you." 

" Oh, but that is not all ; for, what is still worse, Mrs. Germaine, 
thanks to the raking hours she keeps, and gaming and fretting, 
looks full ten years older than she is : so that you see, in fact, 
there are twenty years between us." 

" I do not see it, indeed," replied William, smiling; "but I 
am bound to believe what you assert. Let me ask you, to what 
does this discussion, concerning poor Mrs. Germaine's age, tend ?" 

"To justify, or at least to excuse, poor Mr. Germaine for 
keeping a mistress, who is something younger, something 
prettier, and, above all, something more good-humoured, than 
his wife." 

" Perhaps the wife would be as good-humoured as the 
mistress, if she were as happy in possessing her husband's 

"Affections! Oh, Lord! Affections are out of the question. 
Mrs. Germaine does not care a straw about my affections." 

"And yet you dread that she should have the least hint of 
your having a mistress." 

"Of course. You don't see my jet. You don't consider 
what a devil of a handle that would give her against me. She 
has no more love for me than this table ; but she is jealous 
beyond all credibility, and she knows right well how to turn her 
jealousy to account. She would go caballing amongst her 
tribes of relations, and get all the women and all the world on 
her side, with this hue and cry of a mistress ; and then I should 
be branded as the worst husband upon earth. That indeed I 
should laugh at, because all the young men in town would keep 
me in countenance ; but Mrs. Germaine would rummage out the 
history of the sums of money I have given this girl, and then 
would set those against her play-debts, and I should have no 
more hold over her^ for, you know, if I should begin to reproach 
her with the one, she would recriminate. She is a devil of a 
hand at that work ! Neither you nor any man on earth, except 
myself, can form any idea of the temper of Mrs. Germaine ! 
She is — to you, my dear friend, I may have the relief of saying 
60 — she is, without exception, the most proud, peevish, selfish, 



unreasonable, extravagant, tyrannical, unfeeling woman in 
Christendom ! " 

" In Christendom ! Oh, you exaggerate, Charles ! " 
" Exaggerate ! Upon my soul, I do not : she is all I have 
said, and more." 

"More! Impossible. Come, I see how it is; she has 
been unlucky at the card-table ; you are angry, and therefore 
you speak, as angry people always do 2 , worse than you think." 

" No, not at all, I promise you. I am as perfectly cool as 
you are. You do not know Mrs. Germaine as well as I do." 

" But I know that she is much to be pitied, if her husband 
has a worse opinion of her than any body else expresses." 

" That is precisely because I am her husband, and know her 
better than other people do. Will not you give me leave to be 
the best judge in what relates to my own wife? I never, indeed, 
expected to hear you, of all people upon earth, cousin William, 
undertake her defence. I think I remember that she was no 
great favourite of yours before I married, and you dissuaded me 
as much as possible from the match : yet now you are quite 
become her advocate, and take her part to my face against me." 

" It is not taking her part against you, my dear Charles," 
replied his cousin, " to endeavour to make you better satisfied 
with your wife. I am not so obstinate in self-opinion as to wish, 
at the expense of your domestic happiness, to prove that I was 
right in dissuading you from the match; on the contrary, I 
would do all in my power to make the best of it ; and so should 

" Ah, cousin William, it is easy for you to talk of making the 
best of a bad match ; you who are married to one of the best 
tempered women alive ! I wish you were to live with Mrs. 
Germaine for one month." 

William smiled, as much as to say, " I cannot join in that 

" Besides," continued Charles, " if I were to open my whole 
heart to you, you would pity me on another account. My wife 
is not my only plague : my mistress is almost as great a tormenf 
as my wife " 

a Swift, 
x 2 



W What ! this mistress of whom you are so fond?" 

" Ay ! there is the curse ! I cannot help being fond of her : 
aud that she knows, and plays me off as she pleases. But I 
believe the little jilt loves me all the time : because she has 
offers enough, and from men of the first fashion, if she would 
leave me. She is certainly a good girl ; but then so passionate!" 

" I thought you told me she was good-humoured," interrupted 
his cousin. 

" Well, so she is, at times, the best humoured creature in 
nature ; and then she is charming : but when she falls into a 
passion, she is a little fury ! absolutely a little devil ! There is 
nothing she would not do. Now, do you know, all this terrible 
business, this execution against me, is her doing?" 

" A singular proof of love !" said Mr. William Darford. 

" Oh, the fool loves me, notwithstanding ; I must do her that 
justice : but she is quite a child. I put her into a passion, by 
going down to Leicestershire when she wanted me to stay with 
her in town. She told me she would be revenged; but I could 
not believe she would go such lengths. She gave a note of mine, 
for two hundred guineas, to her uncle ; and he got a writ. Now 
she is in despair about it ; I saw her two hours ago all in tears, and 
tearing her hair, because her uncle won't consent to withdraw the 
execution. I am sure she is really and truly sorry ; and would 
give her eyes to get me out of this scrape." 

" Whether she would give her eyes or not, I will not pretend 
to determine ; but it is plain she would not pay two hundred 
guineas ' to get you out of, this scrape.' Now, where do you 
intend to get the money?" 

" Ah, there's the rub ! I have not a farthing, till our next 
rents come in ; and you see these heaps of bills. Then the 
agent, who manages every thing, Heaven knows how ! at 
Germaine-park, says tenants are breaking ; that we are, I do not 
know how much, in his debt, and that we must sell ; but that, if 
we sell in a hurry, and if our distress be talked of, we shall get 
nothing for the land, and so shall be ruined outright. Now, this 
all originates in Mrs. Germaine's pride and positiveness : she 
never could be prevailed upon to go down to Germaine-park. 
these ten years past, because some of the Northamptonshire 
people affronted her : so our affairs have gone on just as the 



agent pleases ; and he is a rascal, I am convinced, for he is 
always writing to say we are in his debt. But, indeed, my dear 
William, you are too good to take any interest in this history of 
my affairs: I am conscious that I have not treated you well." 

" Do not talk of that now : do not think of* it, Charles," 
interrupted Mr. Darford. " I am come to town on purpose to 
be of all the service to you I can. I will discharge this writ 
upon one, and only upon one, condition." 

" Upon any condition you please," cried Charles. " I will 
give you my bond. I will give you security upon the Germaina 
estate, if you require it." 

" I require no security ; I require no bond, Charles ; I require 
only a condition which I believe to be absolutely necessary for 
your happiness. Promise me you will break off all connexion 
with this treacherous mistress of yours." 

" Treacherous ! No, no ! I assure you, you mistake the girl.''* 

" Mistake her or not, Charles, without arguing the matter 
farther, on this one point I must be peremptory; and, positively, 
the only condition on which I will pay this money is your 
promise never to see her again." 

Charles hesitated. " Upon my soul," cried he, " I believe 
the girl will break her heart. But then she is so cursedly 
extravagant, she ruins me! I would have broken with her long 
ago, if I could have summoned up courage enough. After all, I 
believe it was more habit, idleness, and fashion, than any thing 
else, that made me go to see her so often. When I did not know 
what to do with myself, or when I was put out of humour at 
home, I went to this girl. Well, let us say no more about it: 
she is not worth thinking of; I give her up. You may depend 
upon it, my dear William, I will have nothing more to do with 
her. I will, since you make that your ultimatum, never see her 

" Will you write to her then immediately, to let her know 
your determination?" 

" Certainly ; immediately." 

Charles wrote, to bid adieu to this mistress ; to whom, by his 
own account, habit, idleness, fashion, and the want of a happy 
home, had attached hun ; and William gave him a draft for the 
amount of his debt, by which the execution was taken off. 


Mr. Dai ford seized the moment when his cousin's mind was 
warmed with gratitude to say a few words, as little in the form of 
advice as possible, in praise of economy. 

"You know, my dear Charles," said he, "that I am, and 
always was, a very plain man, in my way of living ; and I dare 
say my ideas will appear quite absurd to you, who are used to 
live with men of taste and fashion; but really these rooms, this 
furniture, and this house, appear to me fitter for a nobleman 
than for a man of your fortune." 

" It is so. Mrs. Germaine would insist upon my taking it. 
But I will part with it before next winter. I will advertise it 
immediately. I will begin a course of economy." 

Mr. Germaine's projects of economy were at this moment 
interrupted by the sudden entrance of his wife. Her eyes 
flashing with anger, she walked with the proud air of an 
enraged tragedy queen across the room, seated herself upon a 
sofa, and, in a voice which trembled with ill-suppressed rage, 
said, " I am to thank you, Mr. Germaine, for the many obliging 
things you have said of me this last hour ! 1 have heard them 
all ! You are under a mistake, sir, if you imagine I have been 
hitherto your dupe. You have never imposed upon me for a 
moment. I have suspected, this twelvemonth, that you kept a 
mistress : and now I am happy to have the truth confirmed from 
your own lips. But I deserve all that has happened! I am 
justly treated ! Weak woman, to marry as I did! No gentle- 
man, sir, would have behaved or would have spoken as you have 
done ! Could net you have been content with ruining yourself 
and your family, Mr. Germaine, by your profligate low tastes, 
without insulting me by base reflections upon my temper, and 
downright falsehoods about my age ? No gentleman, sir, would 
have treated me as you have done. I am the most miserable of 
women !" 

Passion choked her utterance, and she fell back in a violent 
fit of hysterics. Mr. William Darford was much shocked at 
this matrimonial scene. The lady had caught hold of his arm, 
in one of her convulsive motions; and she held it so fast that he 
could not withdraw. Charles stood in silent dismay. His con- 
science smote him; and though he could not love his wife, he 
blamed himself for having rendered her " the most miserable of 



women." " Leave her to me, Charles," said Mr, Darford, " and 
I will endeavour to set matters to rights." 

Charles shook his head, and left the room. Mrs. Germaine 
by degrees recovered herself; for a hysteric fit cannot last for 
ever. She cast her eyes round the room, and exclaimed, " He 
has done well to leave me ! Oh, that it were for ever ! Oh, 
that we had never met! But may I ask why Mr. William 
Darford is here ? My own servant — my own maid, should have 
been summoned to attend me. We have servants still, sir; and, 
humbled as I am, I see no necessity for submitting to have cool 
spectators of our family distresses and family quarrels." 

"Believe me, madam," said Mr. Darford, " I am not a cool 
spectator of either. I do not wish to recal disagreeable things, 
but to obtain the right of speaking to you of your affairs as a 
friend. Permit me to remind you that, when I could not guess 
you heard me, I defended your interests." 

" Really, sir, you spoke so low that I did not distinctly hear 
what you said ; and my feelings were so much hurt, by all I 
heard from Mr. Germaine, who spoke loud enough, that I 
attended to nothing else. Upon recollection, I do, however, 
remember you made some offer to get Mr. Germaine out of his 
present embarrassments, upon condition that he would break off 
all connexion with this girl, whom nobody knows ; or rather 
whom every body knows too well." 

"And was not this offer ^mine some proof, Mrs. Germaine, 
that I wish your happiness?" 

" Why, really, Mr. Darford, having lived in the world as I 
have done from my childhood, I am not apt to expect much 
friendship from any one, especially from people in the habits of 
calculation ; and I have been so much deceived where I have 
unguardedly trusted to the friendship and love of a man brought 
up in that sort of way, that you must forgive me if I could not 
bring my mind to think you had any concern for my happiness 
in the offer you made. I did indeed suppose it would be a 
mortifying circumstance to you, to see your cousin quite ruined 
by this infamous creature. I say, I did imagine you would be 
shocked at seeing your cousin sent to jail. That, you know, is 
a thing discreditable to a whole family, let it be of what sort it 
may. From your kindness to our children, I see you consider 



ns as relations. Every human being, I do suppose, has some 
family pride in their own way." 

" I own I have a great deal of family pride, in my own way, 
madam," replied Mr. Darford, with a calm smile ; " I am proud, 
for instance, of having, and of being able to maintain in perfect 
independence, a number of good and affectionate children, and 
a wife, whose good sense and sweetness of temper constitute the 
happiness of my existence !" 

Mrs. Germaine coloured, threw back her head, and strove to 
conceal the anguish of her conscience. William was sorry he 
had inflicted pain, but he saw that the only way to make him- 
self understood in this conversation, was to assert that real 
superiority of character to which, in certain situations, the 
factitious pretensions of rank or fashion never fail to yield. 

"You are at liberty, Mrs. Germaine," continued William, "to 
interpret my offers and my actions as you think proper ; but you 
will, when you are cool, observe that neither I nor any of my 
family have any thing to gain from you or yours ; not even a 
curtsy or a bow, in public places ; for we do not frequent them. 
We live retired, and have no connexion with fine people ; we 
preserve our own independence by confining ourselves to our 
own station in life ; and by never desiring to quit it, nor to ape 
those who are called our betters. From what I have just heard 
you say, I think it possible you may have formed the idea that 
we invited your children to our house with the selfish supposition 
that the connexion, I believe that is the fashionable phrase, 
might be advantageous to our own. But this is quite a 
mistake. Our children will live as we do : they have no idea of 
forming high connexions, because they have been taught not to 
think them necessary to happiness. I assure you it is not my 
habit to talk so much of myself and of mine ; but I thought it 
best to explain the truth to you at once, as this was the only way 
to gain your confidence, and as we have neither of us time to 

"Very true," said Mrs. Germaine. 

" And now, madam, I have a proposal to make to you, which 
I hope you will take as it is meant. I understand, from Mr, 
Germaine, you have some play debts." 

a Mr. Germaine does not know their amount," said Mrs. Gei> 



maine, lowering her voice, as if she apprehended she might be 

If you will trust me with that secret, I will not make a had 
use of it." 

Mrs. Germaine in a whisper named the sum. It was certainly 
considerable, for the naming of it made Mr. Darford step back 
with surprise. After a few minutes' thought, he recovered him- 
self, and said, " This is a larger debt than I was aware of, but 
we will see what can be done. From the time that Charles and 
I dissolved our partnership, I have never remitted my attention 
to business ; and that very circumstance, for which you must 
despise me, puts it now in my power to assist you without 
injuring my own family. I am a man who speak my mind 
freely, perhaps bluntly. You must solemnly promise me you 
will never again play at any game of hazard. Upon this condi- 
tion, I will pay your present debts immediately." 

With all the eagerness of a person who wishes to seize an 
offer which appears too generous to be repeated, Mrs. Germaine 
promised all that was required. Her debts were paid. 

And now her benefactor had hopes that she and her husband 
would live more prudently ; and that they might still enjoy 
some portion of domestic happiness. Vain hopes ! Chai'les 
really wished to retrench his expenses ; but Mrs. Germaine's 
pride was an insuperable obstacle to all his plans of economy. 
She had always been accustomed to such and such things. 
There was no possibility of living without them. Her relations 
would be perfectly astonished if she did not appear in the style 
in which she had always lived before her marriage. Provoked 
by the insolent absurdity of such arguments, Mr. Germaine 
insisted with the authoritative voice of a husband who was con- 
scious that he had both reason and power on his side. Hence 
arose daily altercations, more bitter even than those which jealousy 
had formerly occasioned. Some wives acknowledge they can 
more easily forgive a husband's infidelity than his interference 
in the regulation of their household expenses. Of this class of 
amiable females was Mrs. Germaine. Though her husband 
strictly adhered to his promise, never to have any farther con- 
nexion with his mistress, yet he was not rewarded by any increase 
of affection or kindness from his wife ; on the contrary, she seemed 



to be rather vexed that she was deprived of this legitimate sub- 
ject of complaint. She could not, with so much tragic effect, 
bewail that her husband would ruin himself and her by his follies. 

To loud altercations, silent hatred succeeded. Mrs. Germaine 
grew sullen, low-spirited, nervous, and hysterical. Among 
fashionable medical dowagers, she became an intei-esting person- 
age : but this species of consequence was by no means sufficient 
to support her self-complacency, and, as she declared, she felt 
herself incapable of supporting the intolerable burden of ennui. 

In various situations, the conduct of many individuals may be 
predicted with certainty, by those who are acquainted with their 
previous habits. Habit is, to weak minds, a species of moral 
predestination, from which they have no power to escape. Their 
common language expresses their sense of their own inability to 
struggle against that destiny which their previous folly has pre- 
pared. They usually say, " For my part, I cannot help doing so 
and so. I know it is very wrong. I know it is my ruin ; but I 
own I cannot resist. It is in vain to argue with me : it is my 
way ; it is my fate." 

Mrs. Germaine found herself led, "by an irresistible impulse," 
to the card-table, notwithstanding her solemn promise never 
more to play at any game of hazard. It was in vain to 
argue with her. " It was her way ; it was her fate ; she knew 
it was very wrong ; she knew it was her ruin ; but she could 
not resist !" 

In the course of a few months, she was again involved in debt ; 
and she had the meanness and the assurance again to apply to 
the generosity of Mr. William Darford. Her letter was written 
in the most abject strain, and was full of all the flattering ex- 
pressions which she imagined must, from a woman of her birth 
and consequence in the world, have a magical effect upon one in 
Mr. William Darford's station. She was surprised when she 
received a decided refusal. He declined all farther interference, 
as he perceived it was impossible that he could be of any real 
utility. He forbore tc reproach the lady with her breach of 
promise : " She will,' said he to himself, V be sufficiently 
punished by the consequences of her own conduct : I would not 
increase her distress." 

A separation from her husband was the immediate conse- 



quence. Perhaps it may be thought that, to Mrs. Germaine, 
this would be no punishment : but the loss of all the pride, pomp, 
and circumstance of married life, was deeply felt. She was thrown 
absolutely upon the charity of relations ; who had very little 
charity in any sense of the word. She was disregarded by 
all her fine acquaintance ; she had no friend upon earth to pity 
her; even her favourite maid gave warning, because she was 
tired of her mistress's temper, and of receiving no wages. 

The detail of poor Mrs. Germaine's mortifications and sufferings 
cannot be interesting. She was a prey to low spirits, or in other 
words, to mortified vanity, for some time ; and at last died of a 
nervous fever. 

Her husband wrote the following letter to Mr. William Dar- 
ford, soon after her death : 


"You have heard of poor Mrs. Germaine's death, and of the 
manner of it; no more need be said upon that subject. What- 
ever were her faults, she has suffered for them ; and so have I 
for mine. Believe me, I am effectually cured of all desire to be 
a fine gentleman. I shall quit the name of Germaine imme- 
diately, and resume that of Darford. You know the state of my 
affairs. There is yet hope I may set things to rights by my own 
industry ; and I am determined to go into business, and to apply 
to it in good earnest, for my own sake, and for the sake of my 
children, whom I have hitherto shamefully neglected. But I had 
it not always in my power, after my marriage, to do as I wished. 
No more of that. The blame be upon me for the past ; for the 
future I shall, I hope, be a different man. I dare not ask you to 
trust so far to these good resolutions as to take me into partner- 
ship with you, in your manufactory ; but perhaps your good- 
nature can direct me to some employment suited to my views 
and capacity. I ask only a fair trial ; I think I shall not do 
as I used to do, and leave all the letters to be written by my 

" Give my love to my dear little boy and girl. How can I 
thank you and Mrs. Darford enough for all you have done for 
them ? There is another person whom I should wish to thank, 



but scarcely dare to name ; feeling, as I do, so unworthy of 
her goodness. 

" Adieu, yours sincerely, 

" Charles Darford, again, 
thank God." 

It is scarcely necessary to inform our readers, that Mr. William 
Darford received his penitent friend with open arms, took him 
into partnership, and assisted him in the most kind and judicious 
manner to re-establish his fortune and his credit. He became 
remarkable for his steady attention to business ; to the great- 
astonishment of those who had seen him only in the character 
of a dissipated fine gentleman. Few have sufficient strength of 
mind thus to stop short in the career of folly, and few have the 
resolution to bear the ridicule thrown upon them even by those 
whom they despise. Our hero was ridiculed most unmercifully 
by all his former companions, — by all the Bond-street loungers. 
But of what consequence was this to him? He did not live 
among them ; he did not hear their witticisms ; and well knew 
that, in less than a twelvemonth, they would forget such a per- 
son as Charles Germaine had ever existed. His knowledge of 
what is called high life had sufficiently convinced him that hap- 
piness is not in the gift or in the possession of those who are 
often, to ignorant mortals, objects of supreme admiration and 

Charles Darford looked for happiness, and found it in domestic 

Belief, founded upon our own experience, is more firm than 
that which we grant to the hearsay evidence of moralists ; but 
happy those who, according to the ancient proverb, can profit 
by the experience of their predecessors ! 

Feb. 1803. 



" What a blessing it is to be the father of such a family of 
children!" said former Frankland, as he looked round at the 
honest affectionate faces of his sons and daughters, who were 
dining with him on his birthday. "What a blessing it is to 
have a large family of children !" 

"A blessing you may call it, if you will, neighbour," said 
farmer Bettesworth ; " but if I were to speak my mind, I should 
be apt to call it a curse." 

"Why, as to that, we may both be right and both be wrong," 
replied Frankland ; " for children are either a blessing or a curse 
according as they turn out ; and they turn out according as 
they are brought up. i Bring up a child in the way it should 
go ;' that has ever been my maxim : show me a better, show me 
a happier family than my own ; and show me a happier father 
than myself," continued the good old man, with pleasure spark- 
ling in his eyes. Observing, however, that his neighbour Bettes- 
worth looked blank and sighed deeply, he checked himself, and 
said, in a more humble tone, " To be sure, it is not so mannerly 
for a man to be praising his own, except it just come from tbe 
heart unawares, amongst friends who will excuse it, especially 
upon such a day as this. This day I am seventy years of age, 
and never was heartier or happier ! So, Fanny, love, fill neigh- 
bour Bettesworth a glass of your sister's cider. 'Tis my Patty's 
making, sir; and better never was drunk. Nay, nay, sit ye 
still, neighbour; as you happened to call in just as we were all 
dining, and making merry together, why you cannot do better 
than to stay and make one of us, seeing that you are heartily 



Mr. Bettesworth excused himself, by saying that he was in 
haste to get home. 

No happy home had he, no affectionate children to welcome 
his return. Yet he had as numerous a family as Mr. Frank- 
land ; three sons and two daughters : Idle Isaac, Wild Will, 
Bullying Bob, Saucy Sally, and Jilting Jessy. Such were the 
names by which they were called by all who knew them in the 
town of Monmouth, where they lived. Alliteration had " lent 
its artful aid" in giving these nicknames; but they were not 

Mr. Bettesworth was an indolent man, fond of his pipe, and 
fonder of building castles in the air by his fireside. Mrs. Bettes- 
worth was a vain, foolish vixen ; fond of dress, and fonder of her 
own will. Neither of them took the least care to breed up their 
children. Whilst they were young, the mother humoured them : 
when they grew up, she contradicted them in every thing, and 
then wondered how they could be so ungrateful as not to love 

The father was also surprised to find that his boys and girls 
were not as well-mannered, nor as well-tempered, nor as clever, 
nor as steady, nor as dutiful and affectionate, as his neighbour 
Frankland's ; and he said to himself, " Some folks have the luck 
of having good children. To be sure, some children are born 
better than others." 

He should rather have said, " To be sure, some children are 
bred better than others." 

Mr. Frankland's wife was a prudent, sensible woman, and had 
united with him in constant endeavours to educate their family. 
Whilst they were yet infants, prattling at their mother's knee, 
she taught them to love and help one another, to conquer their 
little froward humours, and to be obedient and tractable. This 
saved both them and herself a great deal of trouble afterward; 
and their father often said, both to the boys and girls, " You may 
thank your mother, and so may I, for the good tempers you 

The girls had the misfortune to lose this excellent mother, 
when one was about seventeen, and the other eighteen ; but she 
was always alive in their memory. Patty, the eldest sister, 
was homely in her person ; but she was so neat in her dress, 



and she had such a cheerful agreeable temper, that people for- 
got she was not handsome ; particularly as it was observed that 
she was very fond of her sister Fanny, who was remarkably 

Fanny was neither prudish nor censorious ; neither a romp 
nor a flirt: she was so unaffected and unassuming, that most of 
her neighbours loved her; and this is saying a great deal in 
favour of one who had so much the power to excite envy. 

Mr. Frankland's eldest son, George, was bred to be a farmer ; 
and he understood country business uncommonly well for a 
young man of his age. He constantly assisted his father in the 
management of the farm ; and, by this means, acquired much 
experience with little waste of time or money. His father had 
always treated him so much as his friend, and had talked to him 
so openly of his affairs, that he ever looked upon his father's 
business as his own ; and he had no idea of having any separate 

James, the second son, was bred to trade. He had been 
taught whatever was necessary and useful for a man in business ; 
he had habits of punctuality, civil manners, and a thorough love 
of fair dealing. 

Frank, the youngest son, was of a more lively disposition than 
his brothers ; and his father used often to tell him, when he was 
a boy, that, if he did not take care, his hasty temper would get 
him into scrapes; and that the brightest parts, as they are called, 
will be of little use to a man, unless he has also steadiness to go 
through with whatever he begins. These hints, from a father 
whom he heartily loved, made so strong an impression upon 
Frank, that he took great pains to correct the natural violence of 
his temper, and to learn patience and industry. The three bro- 
thers were attached to one another; and their friendship was a 
source of improvement, as well as of pleasure. 

The evening of Mr. Frankland's birthday the whole family re- 
tired to an arbour in their garden, and began to talk over their 
affairs with open hearts. 

"Well, Frank, my boy," said the happy father, who was the 
confidant of his children, " I am sure, if your heart is set upon 
this match with Jessy Bettesworth, I will do my best to like tho 
girl; and her not being rich shall be no objection to me; we 



can make that up amongst us, some way or other. But, Frank, 
it is fair to tell you my opinion of the girl, plainly and fully, 
beforehand, as I have done. She that has jilted others, I think, 
would be apt to jilt you, if she met with a better offer." 

" Why then, father, I'll not De in a hurry : I'll take time to 
consider, before I speak to her any more ; and I thank you for 
being so kind, which I hope I shall not forget." 

The morning after this conversation passed, Jilting Jessy, ac- 
companied by her sister, Saucy Sally, came to pay Patty and 
Fanny Frankland a visit. They were full of some piece of news, 
which they were eager to tell. 

" Well, to be sure, I dreamed I had a diamond ring put on my 
finger by a great lord, not a week ago," cried Jessy ; " and who 
knows but it may come true ? You have not heard the news, 
Fanny Frankland? Hey, Patty?" 

" Not they : they never hear any news !" said Sally. 

"Well, then, I'll tell you," cried Jessy. "Rich Captain 
Bettesworth, our relation, who made the gre&tfortin abroad, over 
seas, has just broken his neck out a-hunting ; and the fortin all 
comes to us." 

" We shall now see whether Mrs. Craddock will push by me 
again, as she did yesterday in the street ! We'll see whether I 
sha'n't make as good a fine lady as herself, I warrant it, that's 
all. It's my turn to push by folk now," said Saucy Sally. 

Fanny and Patty Frankland, with sincere good-nature, con- 
gratulated their neighbours on this increase of fortune ; but they 
did not think that pushing by Mrs. Craddock could be one of 
the most useful or agreeable consequences of an increase in for- 

" Lord, Patty ! how you sit moping yourself there at your 
work," continued Sally ; " but some people must work, to be sure, 
that can't afford to be idle. How you must envy us, Patty!" 

Patty assured her she did not in the least envy those who were 

" Fine talking ! Fine airs, truly, Miss Patty ! This is by way 
of calling me over the coals for being idle, I suppose!" said 
Sally : " but I've no notion of being taken to task this way. 
You think you've had a fine edication, I suppose, and so are to 
set a pattern for all Monmouthshire, indeed : but you'll find 


some people will be as much thought of now as other people, 
and may hold their heads as high. Judication i> a fine thing, no 
doubt; but fortius a better, as the world goes, I've a notion : so 
you may go moping on here as long as you please, being a good 
child all the days of your life ! 

' Come when you're call'd ; 
And do as you're bid ; 
Shut the door after you ; 
And you'll never be chid.' 

I'm sure, I would not let my nose be kept to the grindstone, as 
yours is, for any one living. I've too much spirit, for my part 
to be made a fool of as some people are ; and all for the sake of 
being called a vastly good daughter, era vastly good sister, for- 
sooth !" 

Nothing but the absolute want of breath could have suspended 
the remainder of this speech ; for she was so provoked to see 
Patty did not envy her, that she was determined to say every 
thing she could invent to try her. Patty's temper, however, was 
proof against the trial ; and Saucy Sally, despairing of success 
against one sister, turned to the other. 

"Miss Fanny, I presume," said she, " won't give herself such 
high and mighty airs, as she used to do, to one of her sweet- 
hearts, who shall be nameless." 

Fanny blushed, for she knew this speech alluded to Wild 
Will, who was an admirer of hers, but whom she had never 

" I hope," said she, " I never gave myself airs to anybody : 
but, if you mean to speak of your brother William, I assure you 
that my opinion of him will not be changed by his becoming 
richer ; nor will my father's." 

Here the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of 
Frank, who had just heard, from one of the Bettesworths, of 
their good fortune. He was impatient to see how Jessy would 
behave in prosperity. "Now," said he to himself, "I shaL 
judge whether my father's opinion of her or mine is right." 

Jilting Jessy had certainly given Frank reason to believe she 
was very fond of him ; but the sudden change in her fortune 
quite altered her views and opinions. As soon as Frank came 
in, she pretended to be in great haste to be gone; and, by 

Popular Tales. Y 



various petty manoeuvres, avoided giving him an opportunity of 
speaking to her ; though she plainly saw he was anxious to say 
something to her in private. At length, when she was looking 
out of the window, to see whether a shower was over, he went 
behind her and whispered, " Why are you in such haste ? Can- 
not you stay a few minutes with us ? You were not always in 
such a hurry to run away !" 

" Lord, nonsense ! Mr. Frank. Why will you always plague 
me with nonsense, Mr. Frank?" 

She opened the lattice window as she spoke, put out her 
beautiful neck as far as possible, and looked up eagerly to the 

'How sweet this jasmine smells!" said Frank, pulling a bit 
of it which hung over the casement. "This is the jasmine you 
used to like so much. See, I've nailed it up, and it's finer than 
ever it was. Won't you have a sprig of it?" offering to put 
some in her hat, as he had done before ; but she now drew back 
disdainfully, saying : 

" Lord ! Mr. Frank, it's all wet, and will spoil my new lilac 
ribbons. How awkward and disagreeable you are always!" 

" Always ! you did not always think so ; at least, you did 
not say so." 

"Well, I think so, and say so now ; and that's enough." 
" And too much, if you are in earnest ; but that I can hardly 

" That's your business, and not mine. If you don't choose to 
believe what I say, how can I help it ? But this you"ll remember, 
if you please, sir." 

" Sir ! ! ! Oh, Jessy ! is it come to this?" 

"To what, sir? For I vow and declare I don't understand 
you !" 

" I have never understood you till now, I am afraid." 

" Perhaps not: it's well we understand one another at last. 
Better late than never." 

The scornful lady walked off to a looking-glass, to wipe 
away the insult which her new lilac ribbons had received from 
Frank's sprig of jasmine. 

" One word more, and I have done," said Frank, hastily 
following her. "Have I done any thing to displease you? Or 



tloes this change in you proceed from the change in your fortune, 
Jessy ?" 

" I'm not obliged, sir, to account for my proceedings to any 
body ; and don't know what right you have to question me, as 
if you were my lord and judge : which you are not, nor ever will 
be, thank God!" 

Frank's passion struggled with his reason for a few instants. 
He stood motionless ; then, in an altered voice, repeated, " Thank 
God!" and turned from her with proud composure. From this 
time forward he paid no more court to Jessy. 

"Ah, father!" said he, "you knew her better than I did. I 
am glad I did not marry her last year, when she would have 
accepted of me, and when she seemed to love me. I thought 
you were rather hard upon her then. But you were not in love 
with her as I was, and now I find you were right." 

"My dear Frank," said the good old man, " I hope you will 
not think me hard another time, when I do not think just the 
same as you do. I would, as I told you, have done every thing 
in my power to settle you well in the world, if you had married 
this girl. I should never have been angry with you ; but I 
should have been bitterly grieved if you had, for the whim of the 
minute, made yourself unhappy for life. And was it not best to 
put you upon your guard? What better use can an old man 
make of his experience than to give it to his children?" 

Frank was touched by the kind manner in which his father 
spoke to him ; and Fanny, who was present, immediately put a 
letter into her father's hand, saying, " I have just received this 
from Will Bettesworth : what answer do you think I had best 
give him ?" 

Now, Fanny, though she did not quite approve of Wild Will's 
character, felt a little partiality for him, for he seemed to be of a 
generous temper, and his manners were engaging. She hoped 
his wildness was only the effect of good spirits, and that he would 
soon settle to some business. However, she had kept these 
hopes and this partiality a secret from all but her father, and she 
had never given Will Bettesworth any encouragement. Her father 
had not a good opinion of this young man ; and she had followed 
his advice, in keeping him at a distance. His letter was written 
in so vile a hand, that it was not easy to decipher the meaning : 

y 2 




" Notwithstanding your cruelty, I ham more in love with you 
than hever ; and now I ham come in for a share in a great fortin ; 
and shall ask no questions from father nor mother, if you will 
marry me, having no reason to love or care for either. Mother's 
as cross as hever, and will never, I am shure, agre to my doing 
any thing I like myself; which makes me more set upon having 
my own whay, and I ham more and more in love with you than 
hever, and would go through fire and water to get you. 

" Your true love (in haste), 

"Will Bettesworth." 

At first reading the letter, Fanny was pleased to find that her 
lover did not, like Jilting Jessy, change his mind the moment 
that his situation was altered : hut, upon looking over it again, 
she could not help considering that such an undutiful son was 
not likely to make a very good hushand ; and she thought even 
that Wild Will seemed to he more and more in love with her 
than ever, from the spirit of opposition ; for he had not been 
much attached to her, till ,his mother, as he said, set herself 
against the match. At the end of this letter were the words 
turnover; hut they were so sci-awled and blotted, that Fanny 
thought they were only one of the strange flourishes which he 
usually made at the end of his name; and consequently she had 
never turned over, or read the postscript, when she put the 
epistle into her father's hands. He deciphered the flourish, and 
read the following addition : 

" I know your feather does not like me ; but never mind his 
not being agreuble. As shure as my name's Will, I'd carry you 
hoff, night or day ; and Bob would fight your brothers along 
with me, if they said a word : for Bob loves fun. I will be at 
your windor this night, if you are agreuble, like a gurl of spirit." 

Fanny was shocked so much that she turned quite pale, and 
would have sunk to the ground, if she had not been supported 
by her father. As soon as she recovered herself sufficiently to 
be able to think, she declared that all the liking she had ever 
felt for William Bettesworth was completely conquered ; and she 



thanked her father for having early warned her of his character. 
"Ah! father," said she, "what a happiness it has been to me 
that you never made me afraid of you ! Else, I never should 
have dared to tell you my mind ; and in what a sad snare might 
I have been at this instant ! If it had not been for you, I 
should perhaps have encouraged this man ; I might not then, 
may be, have been able to draw back ; and what would have 
become of me V 

It is scarcely necessary to say that Fanny wrote a decided 
refusal to Wild Will. All connexion between the Bettesworths 
and Franklands was now broken off. Will was enraged at 
being rejected by Fanny; and Jessy was equally incensed at 
finding she was no longer admired by Frank. They, however, 
affected to despise the Franklands, and to treat them as people 
beneath their notice. The fortune left by Captain Bettesworth 
to his relations, was said to be about twenty thousand pounds : 
with this sum they thought, to use their own expression, they 
were entitled to live in as great style, and cut as grand a dash, 
as any of the first families in Monmouthshire. For the present 
we shall leave them to the enjoyment of their new grandeur, 
and continue the humble history of farmer Frankland and his 

By many years of persevering industry, Mr. Frankland had 
so improved the farm upon which he lived, that he was now 
affluent, for a man in his station of life. His house, garden, 
farm-yard, every thing about him, were so neat and comfortable, 
that travellers, as they passed by, never failed to ask, " Who 
lives there?" Travellers, however, only saw the outside; and 
that was not, in this instance, the best part. They would have 
seen happiness, if they had looked within these farm-house walls : 
happiness which may be enjoyed as well in the cottage as in the 
palace ; that which arises from family union. 

Mr. Frankland was now anxious to settle his sons in the 
world. George had business enough at home, in taking care of 
the farm ; and James proposed to set up a haberdasher's shop in 
Monmouth : accordingly, the goods were ordered, and the shop 
was taken. 

There was a part in the roof of the house which let in the wet, 
and James would not go into it till this was completely repaired ; 



so his packages of goods were sent from London to his father's 
house, which was only a mile distant from Monmouth. His 
sisters unpacked them by his desire, to set shop-marks upon 
each article. Late at night, after all the rest of the family were 
asleep, Patty was sitting up to finish setting the marks on a box 
full of ribbons ; the only thing that remained to be done. Her 
candle was just burnt out; and as she was going for another, 
she went by a passage window that faced the farm-yard, and 
suddenly saw a great light without. She looked out, and beheld 
the large hay-rick all in flames. She ran immediately to 
awaken her brothers and her father. They used every possible 
exertion to extinguish the fire, and to prevent it from communi- 
cating to the dwelling-house ; but the wind was high ; it blew 
directly towards the house. George poured buckets of water 
over the thatch, to prevent its catching fire ; but all was in 
vain : thick flakes of fire fell upon it faster than they could be 
extinguished, and in an hour's time the dwelling-house was in a 

The first care of the sons had been to get their father and 
sisters out of danger; then, with great presence of mind, they 
collected every thing that was most valuable and portable, and 
laboured hard to save poor James's stock of haberdashery. 
They were all night hard at work : towards three o'clock the fire 
was got under, and darkness and silence succeeded. There was 
one roof of the house saved, under which the whole family 
rested for a few hours, till the return of daylight renewed the 
melancholy spectacle of their ruin. Hay, oats, straw, corn-ricks, 
barn, every thing that the farm-yard contained, was utterly 
consumed : the walls and some half-burnt beams remained of the 
dwelling-house, but it was no longer habitable. It was calculated 
that six hundred pounds would not repair the loss occasioned by 
this unfortunate accident. How the hay-rick had caught fire 
nobody knew. 

George, who had made up the hay-stack, was most inclined 
to think that the hay had not been sufficiently dried, and that 
the rick had heated from this cause. He blamed himself 
extremely ; but his father declared he had seen, felt, and smelt 
the hay, when the rick was making, and that it was as well 
saved hay as ever was brought into a farm-yard. This, in some 


measure, quieted poor George's conscience : and he was yet 
more comforted by Patty's good-nature, who showed him a 
bucket of ashes which had been left very near the spot where 
the hay-rick stood. The servant-girl, who, though careless, was 
honest, confessed she recollected having accidentally left this 
bucket in that dangerous place the preceding evening ; that she 
was going with it across the yard to the ash-hole, but she heard 
her lover whistle to her from the lane, and she set down the 
bucket in a hurry, ran to meet him, and forgot the ashes. All 
she could say in her own defence was, that she did not think 
there was any fire in the bucket. 

Her good master forgave her carelessness ; he said he was 
sure she reproached herself enough for it, as indeed she did, 
and the more so when her master spoke to her so kindly ; she 
cried as if her heart would break; and all that could be done to 
comfort her, was to set her to work as hard as possible for the 

They did not, any of them, spend their time in vain lamenta- 
tions : ready money was wanting to rebuild the house and barns, 
and James sold to a haberdasher in Monmouth all of his stock 
which had been saved out of the fire, and brought the money 
to his father. 

"Father," said he, "you gave this to me when you were able 
to afford it ; you want it now, and I can do very well without it. 
I will go and be shopman in some good shop in Monmouth ; and 
by degrees I shall get on, and do very well in the world. It 
would be strange if I did not, after the education you have 
given me." 

The father took the money from his son with tears of pleasure. 
"It is odd enough." said he, " that I should feel pleasure at 
such a time ; but this is the blessing of having good children. 
As long as we all are ready to help one another in this manner, 
we can never be very miserable, happen what may. Now let us 
think of rebuilding our house," continued the active old man. 
" Frank, reach me down my hat. I've a twinge of the rheumatism 
in this arm : I caught a little cold the night of the fire, I believe ; 
but stirring about will do me good, and I must not be lazy : I 
should be ashamed to be lazy amongst so many active young 



The father and sons were very busy at work, when an ill- 
looking man rode up to them ; and, after asking if their name 
was Frankland, put a paper into each of their hands. These 
papers were copies of a notice to quit their farm, before the 
ensuing first of September, under pain of paying double rent for 
the same. 

"This is some mistake, sir," said old Frankland, mildly. 

"No mistake, sir," replied the stranger. "You will find the 
notice is a good notice, and duly served. Your lease I have 
seen myself within these few days : it expired last May ; and you 
have held over, contrary to law and justice, eleven months, this 
being April." 

" My father never did anything contrary to law and justice in 
his whole life," interrupted Frank ; whose eyes flashed with in- 

"Softly, Frank," said his father, putting his hand on his 
son's shoulder ; " softly, my dear boy : let this gentleman and I 
come to an understanding quietly.— Here is some mistake, sir. 
It is very true that my lease expired last May; but I had a 
promise of a renewal from my good landlord." 

"I don't know, sir, anything of that," replied the stranger, 
as he looked over a memorandum-book. " I do not know whom 
you denominate your good landlord; that being noway of de- 
scribing a man in the eye of the law: but if you refer to the 
original grantor, or lessor, Francis Folingsby, of Folingsby-place, 
Monmouthshire, Esq., I am to inform you that he died at Bath 
the 17th instant." 

" Died ! My poor landlord dead ! I am very sorry for it." 

"And his nephew, Philip Folingsby, Esq., came into pos- 
session as heir at law," continued the stranger, in an unvaried 
tone ; "and under his orders I act, having a power of attorney 
for that purpose." 

" But, sir, I am sure Mr. Philip Folingsby cannot know of the 
promise of renewal, which I had from his uncle." 

" Verbal promises, you know, are nothing, sir ; mere air, 
without witnesses : and, if gratuitous on the part of the deceased, 
are no ways binding, either in common law or equity, on the 
survivor or heir. In case the promise had been in writing, and 
on a proper stamp, it would have been something." 



" It was not in writing, to be sure, sir," said Frankland, "but 
I thought my good landlord's word was as good as his bond 
and I said so." 

"Yes," cried Frank; "and I remember when you said so to 
him, I wac by ; and he answered, ' You shall have my promise 
in writing. Such things are of little use between honest men : 
but who knows what may happen, and who may come after me 1 
Everything about business should be put into writing. I would 
never let a tenant of mine be at an uncertainty. You have 
improved your farm, and deserve to enjoy the fruits of your own 
industry, Mr. Frankland.' Just then company came in, and our 
landlord put off writing the promise. He next day left the 
country in a hurry ; and I am sure thought, afterwards, he had 
given us the promise in writing." 

"Very clear evidence, no doubt, sir; but not at all to the 
point at present," said the stranger. "As an agent, lam to 
know nothing but what is my employer's intent. When we see 
the writing and stamp, I shall be a better judge," added he with 
a sneer. " In the mean time, gentlemen, I wish you a good 
morning : and you will please to observe that you have been 
duly served with notice to quit, or pay double rent." 

" There can be no doubt, however," said Frank, " that Mr. 
Folingsby will believe you, father. He is a gentleman, I sup- 
pose, and not like this new agent, who talks like an attorney. 
I hate all attorneys." 

"All dishonest attorneys, I suppose you mean, Frank," said 
the benevolent old man ; who, even when his temper was most 
tried, never spoke, or even felt with acrimony. 

The new landlord came into the country ; and a few days 
after his arrival, old Frankland went to wait upon him. There 
was little hope of seeing young Mr. Folingsby ; he was a man 
whose head was at this time entirely full of gigs, and tandems, 
and unicorns : business was his aversion ; pleasure was his 
business. Money he considered only as the means of plea- 
sure ; and tenants only as machines, who make money. He 
was neither avaricious nor cruel ; but thoughtless and extra- 

Whilst he appeared merely in the character of a young man 
of fashion, these faults were no offence to his equals, to whom 



they did no injury : but when lie came into possession of a large 
estate, and when numbers were dependent upon him, they were 
severely felt by his inferiors. 

Mr. Folingsby had just gathered up the reins in hand, and 
was seated in his unicorn, when farmer Frankland, who had 
been waiting some hours to see him, came to the side of the 
carriage. As he took off his hat, the wind blew his grey hair 
over his face. 

"Put on your hat, pray, my good friend; and don't come 
near these horses, for I can't answer for them. Have you any 
commands with me?" 

" I have been waiting some hours to speak to you, sir; but, if 
you are not at leisure, I will come again to-morrow morning," 
said old Frankland. 

" Ay, do so; call to-morrow morning; for now I have not 
one moment to spare," said young Folingsby, as he whipped his 
horses, and drove off, as if the safety of the nation had depended 
upon twelve miles an hour. 

The next day, and the next, and the next, the old tenant 
called upon his young landlord, but without obtaining an au- 
dience ; still he was desired to call to-morrow, and to-morrow, 
and to-morrow. He wrote several letters to him, but received 
no answer : at last, after giving half a guinea to his landlord's 
gentleman, he gained admittance. Mr. Folingsby was drawing 
on his boots, and his horses were coming to the door. Frank- 
land saw it was necessary to be concise in his story : he slightlv 
touched on the principal circumstances, the length of time he 
had occupied his farm, the improvements he had made upon the 
land, and the misfortune «* hich had lately befallen him. The 
boots were on by the time that he got to the promise of renewal, 
and the notice to quit. 

" Promise of renewal : I know of no such thing. Notice to 
quit: that's my agent's business; speak to him; he'll do you 
justice. I really am soi-ry for you, Mr. Frankland ; very sorry, 
extremely sorry. Damn the rascal who made these boots ! — 
but you see how I'm circumstanced; haven't a moment to 
myself; only came to the country for a few days; set out for 
Ascot-races to-morrow ; really have not a moment to think of 
any thing. But speak to Mr. Deal, my agent. He'll do you 



justice, I'm sure. I leave all these things to him. Jack, that 

bay horse is coming on " 

" I have spoken to your agent, sir," said the old tenant, 
following his thoughtless young landlord; "but he said that 
verbal promises, without a witness present, were nothing but 
air; and I have nothing to rely on but your justice. I assure 
you, sir, I have not been an idle tenant : my land will show that 
I have not." 

" Tell Mr. Deal so ; make him understand it in this light. I 
leave every thing of this sort to Mr. Deal. I really have not 
time for business, but I'm sure Mr. Deal will do you justice." 

This was all that could be obtained from the young landlord. 
His confidence in his agent's sense of justice was somewhat mis- 
placed. Mr. Deal had received a proposal from another tenant 
for Frankland's farm; and with this proposal a bank note was 
sent, which spoke more forcibly than all that poor Frankland 
could urge. The agent took the farm from him ; and declared 
he could not, in justice to his employer, do otherwise ; because 
the new tenant had promised to build upon the land a lodge fit 
for any gentleman to inhabit, instead of a farm-house. 

The transaction was concluded without Mr. Folingsby's know- 
ing any thing more of the matter, except signing the leases, 
which he did without reading them ; and receiving half a year's 
rent in hand, as a fine, which he did with great satisfaction. He 
was often distressed for ready money, though he had a large 
estate ; and his agent well knew how to humour him in his 
hatred of business. No interest could have persuaded Mr. Fo- 
lingsby deliberately to commit so base an action as that of 
cheating a deserving old tenant out of a promised renewal ; but, 
in fact, long before the leases were sent to him, he had totally 
forgotten every syllable that poor Frankland had said to him on 
the subject. 


The day on which they left their farm was a melancholy day to 
this unfortunate family. Mr. Frankland's father and grand- 
father had been tenants, and excellent tenants, to the Folingsby 



family : all of them had occupied, and not only occupied, but 
highly improved, this farm. All the neighbours were struck 
with compassion, and cried shame upon Mr. Folingsby ! But 
Mr. Folingsby was at Ascot, and did not hear them. He was 
on the race ground, betting hundreds upon a favourite horse, 
whilst this old man and his family were slowly passing in their 
covered cart down the lane which led from their farm, taking a 
last farewell of the fields they had cultivated, and the harvest 
they had sown, but which they were never to reap. 

Hannah, the servant-girl, who had reproached herself so 
bitterly for leaving the bucket of ashes near the hay-rick, was 
extremely active in assisting her poor master. Upon this occa- 
sion she seemed to be endowed with double strength ; and a 
degree of cleverness and presence of mind, of which she had 
never shown any symptoms in her former life : but gratitude 
awakened all her faculties. 

Before she came to this family, she had lived some years with 
a farmer who, as she now recollected, had a small farm, with a 
snug cottage upon it, which was to be this very year out of lease. 
Without saying a word of her intentions, she got up early one 
morning, walked fifteen miles to her old master's, and offered to 
pay out of her wages, which she had laid by for six or seven 
years, the year's rent of this farm before-hand, if the farmer 
would let it to Mr. Frankland. The farmer would not take the 
girl's money, for he said he wanted no seciu-ity from Mr. Frank- 
land, or his son George : they bore the best of characters, he 
observed, and no people in Monmouthshire could understand 
the management of land better. He willingly agreed to let him 
the farm ; but it contained only a few acres, and the house was 
so small that it could scarcely lodge above three people. 

Here old Frankland and his eldest son, George, settled. 
James went to Monmouth, where he became shopman to Mr. 
Cleghorn, a haberdasher, who took him in preference to three 
other young men, who applied on the same day. "Shall I tell 
you the reason why I fixed upon you, James?" said Mr. Cleg- 
horn. "It was not whim ; I had my reasons." 

" I suppose," said James, "you thought I had been honestly 
and well brought up ; as, I believe, in former times, sir, you knew 
something of my mother." 



" Yes, sir; and in former times I knew something of yourself. 
You may forget, but I do not, that, when you were a child, not 
more than nine years old you came to this shop to pay a bill of 
your mother's : the bill was cast up a pound too little : you 
found out the mistake, and paid me the money. I dare say you 
are as good an accountant, and as honest a fellow, still. I have 
just been terribly tricked by a lad to whom I trusted foolishly ; 
but this will not make me suspicious towards you, because I 
know how you have been brought up ; and that is the best 
security a man can have." 

Thus, even in childhood, the foundation of a good chai*acter 
may be laid ; and thus children inherit the good name of their 
parents. A rich inheritance ! of which they cannot be deprived 
by the utmost malice of fortune. 

The good characters of Fanny and Patty Frankland were well 
known in the neighbourhood ; and when they could no longer 
afford to live at home, they found no difficulty in getting places. 
On the contrary, several of the best families in Monmouth were 
anxious to engage them. Fanny went to live with Mrs. Hunger- 
ford, a lady of an ancient family, who was proud, but not 
insolent, and generous, but not what is commonly called affable. 
She had several children, and she hired Fanny Frankland for 
the particular purpose of attending them. 

" Pray let me see that you exactly obey my orders, young 
woman, with respect to my children," said Mrs. Hungerford, 
" and you shall have no reason to complain of the manner in 
which you are treated in this house. It is my wish to make 
every body happy in it, from the highest to the lowest. You 
have, I understand, received an education above your present 
station in life ; and I hope and trust that you will deserve the 
high opinion I am, from that circumstance, inclined to form of 

Fanny was rather intimidated by the haughtiness of Mrs. 
Hungerford's manner; yet she felt a steady though modest 
confidence in herself, which was not displeasing to her mistress. 

About this time Patty also went into service. Her mistress 
was a Mrs. Crumpe, a very old rich lady, who was often sick 

1 This circumstance is a fact. 



and peevish, and who confessed that she required an uncommonly 
good-humoured person to wait uj)on her. She lived a few miles 
from Monmouth, where she had many relations ; but on account 
of her great age and infirmities, she led an extremely retired life. 

Frank was now the only person in the family who was not 
settled in the world. He determined to apply to a Mr. Barlow, 
an attorney of an excellent character. He had been much 
pleased with the candour and generosity Frank showed in a 
quarrel with the Bettesworths ; and he had promised to befriend 
him, if ever it should be in his power. It happened that, at this 
time, Mr. Barlow was in want of a clerk; and as he knew 
Frank's abilities, and had reason to feel confidence in his in- 
tegrity, he determined to employ him in his office. Frank had 
once a prejudice against attorneys : he thought that they could 
not be honest men ; but he was convinced of his mistake when 
he became acquainted with Mr. Barlow. This gentleman never 
practised any mean pettyfogging arts ; on the contrary, he 
always dissuaded those who consulted him from commencing 
vexatious suits. Instead of fomenting quarrels, it was his 
pleasure and pride to bring about reconciliations. It was said of 
Mr. Barlow that he had lost more suits out of the court, and 
fewer in them, than any attorney . of his standing in Eng- 
land. His reputation was now so great that he was consulted 
more as a lawyer than as an attorney. With such a master, 
Frank had a prospect of being extremely happy ; and he 
determined that nothing should be wanting, on his part, to 
ensure Mr. Barlow's esteem and regard. 

James Frankland, in the mean time, went on happily with Mr. 
Cleghorn, the haberdasher ; whose customers all agreed that his 
shop had never been so well attended as since this young man 
had been his foreman. His accounts were kept in the most 
exact manner; and his bills were made out with unrivalled 
neatness and expedition, His attendance on the shop was so 
constant that his master began to fear it might hurt his health ; 
especially as he had never, till of late, been used to so confined a 

"You should go abroad, James, these fine evenings," said Mr. 
Cleghorn. " Take a walk in the country now and then, in the 
fresh air. Don't think I want to nail you always to the 



counter. Come, this is as fine an evening as you can wish ■ 
take your hat, and away ; I'll mind the shop myself, till you 
come back. He must be a hard master, indeed, that does not 
know when he is well served ; and that never will be my case, I 
hope. Good servants make good masters, and good masters 
good servants. Not that I mean to call you, Mr. James, a 
servant ; that was only a slip of the tongue ; and no matter for 
the tongue, where the heart means well, as mine does towards 

Towards all the world Mr. Cleghorn was not disposed to be 
indulgent : he was not a selfish man ; but he had a high idea of 
subordination in life. Having risen himself by slow degrees, he 
thought that every man in trade should have what he called 
"the rough as well as the smooth." He saw that his new fore- 
man bore the rough well ; and therefore he was now inclined to 
give him some of the smooth. 

James, who was ertremely fond of his brother Frank, called 
upon him and took him to Mrs. Hungerford's, to ask Fanny to 
accompany them in this walk. They had seldom seen her since 
they had quitted their father's house and lived in Monmouth ; 
and they were disappointed when they were told, by Mrs. Hun- 
gerford's footman, that Fanny was not at home ; she was gone to 
walk out with the children. The man did not know which road 
they went, so they had no hopes of meeting her ; and they took 
their way through one of the shady lanes near Monmouth. It 
was late before they thought of returning ; for, after several 
weeks' confinement in close houses, the fresh air, green fields, 
and sweet-smelling wild flowers in the hedges, were delightful 
novelties. " Those who see these things every day," said James, 
"scarcely notice them ; I remember I did not when I lived at 
our farm. So things, as my father used to say, are made equal 
to people in this world. We, who are hard at work in a close 
room all day long, have more relish for an evening walk, a 
hundred to one, than those who saunter about from morning till 

The philosophic reflections of James were interrupted by the 
merry voices of a troop of children, who were getting over a stile 
into the lane, where he and Frank were walking. The children 
had huge nosegays of honeysuckles, dog-roses, and blue-bells, 



in their little hands; and they gave their flowers to a young 
woman who attended them, begging she would hold them 
whilst they got over the stile. James and Frank went to 
offer their services to help the children ; and then they saw that 
the young woman, who held the flowers, was their sister Fanny. 

" Our own Fanny !" said Frank. "How lucky this is! It 
seems almost a year since I saw you. We have been all the way 
to Mrs. Hungerford's to look for you, and have been forced to 
take half our walk without you ; but the other half will make 
amends. I've a hundred things to say to you : which is your 
way home ? Take the longest way, I entreat you. Here is 
my arm. What a delightful fine evening it is ! But what's the 
matter? " 

" It is a very fine evening," said Fanny, hesitating a little ; 
"and I hope to-morrow will be as fine. I'll ask my mistress to 
let me walk out with you to-morrow ; but this evening I cannot 
stay with you, because I have the children under my care ; and 1 
have promised her that I will never walk with any one when 
they are with me." 

" But your own brother," said Frank, a little angry at this 

" I promised I would not walk with any one ; and surely you 
are somebody: so good night; good bye," replied Fanny, 
endeavouring to turn off his displeasure with a laugh. 

" But what harm, I say, can I do the children, by walking with 
you ?" cried Frank, catching hold of her gown. 

" I don't know ; but I know what the orders of my mistress 
are ; and you know, dear Frank, that whilst I live with her, I 
am bound to obey them." 

" Oh, Frank, she must obey them," said James. 

Frank loosened his hold of Fanny's gown immediately. " You 
are right, dear Fanny," said he; "you are right, and I was 
wrong : so good night ; good bye. Only remember to ask leave 
to walk with us to-morrow evening ; for I have had a letter 
from father and brother George, and I want to show it you. 
Wait five minutes, and I can read it to you now, Fanny." 

Fanny, though she was anxious to hear her father's letter, 
would not wait, but hurried away with the children that were 
under her care ; saying she must keep her promise to her 



mistress exactly. Frank followed her, and put the letter into her 
hands. " You are a dear good girl, and deserve all the fine 
things father says of you in this letter. Take it, child : your 
mistress does not forbid you receiving a letter from your father, 
I suppose. I shall wish her hanged, if she does not let you walk 
with us to-morrow," whispered he. 

The children frequently interrupted Fanny, as she was reading 
her father's letter. " Pray pull that high dog-rose for me, Fanny," 
said one. " Pray hold me up to that large honsysuckle," said 
another. "And do, Fanny," said the youngest boy, "let us go 
home by the common, that I may see the glowworms. Mamma 
said I might ; and whilst we are looking for the glowworms, you 
can sit on a stone, or a bank, and read your letter in peace." 

Fanny, who was always very ready to indulge the children in 
any thing which her mistress had not forbidden, agreed to this 
proposal ; and when they came to the common, little Gustavus, 
for that was the name of the eldest boy, found a charming seat 
for her ; and she sat down to read her letter whilst the children 
ran to hunt for glowworms. 

Fanny read her father's letter over three times ; and yet few 
people, except those who have the happiness to love a father as 
well, and to have a father as deserving to be loved, would think 
it at all worth reading even once. 


" It is a strange thing to me to be without you ; but, with me 
or from me, I am sure you are doing well ; and that is a great 
comfort ; ay, the best a father can have, especially at my age. 
I am heartily glad to hear that my Frank has, by his own deserts, 
got so good a place with that excellent man, Mr. Barlow. He 
does not hate attorneys now, I am sure. Indeed, it is my belief, 
he could not hate any body for half an hour together, if he were 
to do his worst. Thank God, none of my children have been 
brought up to be revengeful or envious ; and they are not fight- 
ing with one another, as I hear the poor Bettesworths now all 
are for the fortune. ' Better is a dinner of herbs, where love is, 
than a stalled ox, and hatred therewith.' I need not have 
troubled myself to write this text to any of you ; but old men 
will be talkative. My rheumatism, however, prevents me from 
Popular Tales. 



being as talkative as I could wish. It has been rather severe or 
so, owing to the great cold I caught the day that I was obliged 
to wait so long at squire Folingsby's in my wet clothes. But I 
hcpe soon to be stirring again, and to be able to take share of 
the work about our little farm, with your dear brother George. 
Poor fellow ! he has so much to do, and does so much, that I 
fear he will overwork himself. He is at this present time out in 
the little field, opposite my window, digging up the docks, which 
are very hard to conquer ; he has made a brave large heap of 
them, but I wish to my heart he would not toil so desperately. 

" I desire, my. dear James and Frank, you will not confine 
yourselves too much in your shop and at your desk : this is all I 
have to dread for either of you. Give my love and blessing to 
my sweet girls. If Fanny was not as prudent as she is pretty, 
I should be in fear for her ; hearing as I do, that Mrs. Hunger- 
ford keeps so much fine company. A waiting-maid in such a 
house is in a dangerous place : but my Fanny, I am sure, will 
ever keep in mind her mother's precepts and example. I am 
told that Mrs. Crumpe, Patty's mistress, is (owing, I suppose, to 
her great age and infirmities) difficult in her humour ; but my 
Patty has so even and pleasant a temper that I defy any one 
living, that knows her, not to love her. My hand is now quite tired 
of writing, this being penned with my left, as my right arm is not 
yet free from rheumatism : I have not James with me to write. 
God bless and preserve you all, my dear children. With such 
comforts, I can have nothing to complain of in this world. This 
I know, I would not exchange any one of you for all my neigh- 
bour Bettesworth's fine fortune. Write soon to 

" Your affectionate father, 

"B. Frankland." 

"Look! look 'at the glowworms!" cried the children, gather- 
ing round Fanny, just as she had finished reading her letter. 
There were prodigious numbers of them on this common ; and 
they shone over the whole ground, in clusters, or singly, like 
little stars. 

Whilst the children were looking with admiration and delight 
at this spectacle, their attention was suddenly diverted from tho 
glowworms by the sound of a French-horn. They looked round, 



and perceived that it came from the balcony of a house, which 
was but a few yards distant from the spot where they were 

"Oh! let us go nearer to the balcony!" said the children, 
" that we may hear the music better." A violin, and a clarionet, 
at this moment began to play. 

" Oh ! let us go nearer ! " repeated the children, drawing Fanny 
with all their little force towards the balcony. 

"My dears, it is growing late," said she, "and we must make 
haste home. There is a crowd of company, you see, at the door 
and at the windows of that house ; and if we go near to it, some 
of them will certainly speak to you, and that, you know, your 
mamma would not like." 

The children paused and looked at one another, as if inclined 
to submit ; but, at this moment, a kettle-drum was heard, and 
little Gustavus could not resist his curiosity to hear and see more 
of this instrument : he broke loose from Fanny's hands, and 
escaped to the house, exclaiming, " I must and will hear it, and 
see it too !" 

Fanny was obliged to pursue him into the midst of the crowd : 
he made his way up to a young gentleman in regimentals, who 
took him up in his arms, saying, "By Jove, a fine little fellow ! 
A soldier, every inch of him ! By Jove, he shall see the drum, 
and beat it too ; let us see who dares say to the contrary." 

As the gallant ensign spoke, he carried Gustavus up a flight 
of stairs that led to the balcony. Fanny in great anxiety called 
after him to beg that he would not detain the child, who was 
trusted to her care : her mistress, she said, would be extremely 
displeased with her, if she disobeyed her orders. 

She was here interrupted in her remonstrance by the shrill 
voice of a female, who stood on the same stair with the ensign, 
and whom, notwithstanding the great alteration in her dress, 
Fanny recognized to be Sally Bettesworth. Jilting Jessy stood 
beside her. 

" Fanny Frankland, I protest ! What a pother she keeps 
about nothing," cried Saucy Sally. " Know your betters, and 
keep your distance, young woman. Who cares whether your 
mistress is displeased or not? She can't turn us away, can she f 
z 2 



pray ? She can't call ensign Bloomington to account, can she, 

An insolent laugh closed this speech; a laugh in which 
several of the crowd joined : but some gentlemen were interested 
by Fanny's beautiful and modest countenance, as she looked up 
to the balcony, and, with tears in her eyes, entreated to be 
heard. " Oh, for shame, Bloomington ! Give her back the 
boy. It is not fair that she should lose her place," cried 

Bloomington would have yielded; but Saucy Sally stood 
before him crying in a threatening tone, " I'll never speak to 
you again, I promise you, Bloomington, if you give up. A fine 
thing indeed for a man and a soldier to give up to a woman and 
a servant-girl ! and an impertinent servant-girl ! Who cares 
for her or her place either?" 

" I do ! I do ! " exclaimed little Gustavus, springing from the 
ensign's arms. "I care for her! She is not an impertinent 
girl ; and I'll give up seeing the kettle-drum, and go home with 
her directly, with all my heart." 

In vain Sally attempted to withhold him ; the boy ran down 
the stairs to Fanny, and marched off with her in all the con- 
scious pride of a hero, whose generosity has fairly vanquished 
his passions. Little Gustavus was indeed a truly generous child : 
the first thing he did, when he got home, was to tell his mother 
all that had passed this evening. Mrs. Hungerford was de- 
lighted with her son, and said to him, " I cannot, I am sure, 
reward you better, my dear, than by rewarding this good young 
woman. The fidelity with which she has fulfilled my orders, 
in all that regards my children, places her, in my opinion, 
above the rank in which she was born. Henceforward she 
shall hold in my house a station to which her habits of truth, 
gentleness, and good sense, entitle her." 

From this time forward, Fanny, by Mrs. Hungerford's desire, 
was always present when the children took their lessons from 
their several masters. Mrs. Hungerford advised her to apply 
herself to learn all those things which were necessary for a 
governess to young ladies. " When you speak, your language 
in general is good, and correct ; and no pains shall be wanting, 



on my part," said this haughty but benevolent lady, " to form 
your manners, and to develope your talents. This I partly owe 
you for your care of my children; and I am happy to reward 
my son Gustavus in a manner which I am certain will be most 
agreeable to him." 

" And, mamma," said the little boy, " may she walk out some- 
times with her brothers ? for I do believe she loves them as well 
as I love my sisters." 

Mrs. Hungerford permitted Fanny to walk out for an hour, 
every morning, during the time that her children were with 
their dancing-master ; and at this hour sometimes her brother 
James, and sometimes her brother Frank, could be spared; and 
they had many pleasant walks together. What a happiness it 
was to them to have been thus bred up, from their earliest years, 
in friendship with one another ! This friendship was now the 
sweetest pleasure of their lives. 

Poor Patty ! She regretted that she could not join in these 
pleasant meetings ; but, alas ! she was so useful, so agreeable, 
and so necessary to her infirm mistress, that she could never be 
spared from home. "Where's Patty? why does not Patty do 
this?" were Mrs. Crumpe's constant questions whenever she 
was absent. Patty had all the business of the house upon her 
hands, because nobody could do any thing so well as Patty. 
Mrs. Crumpe found that no one could dress her but Patty; 
nobody could make her bed, so that she could sleep on it, but 
Patty; no one could make jelly, or broth, or whey, that she 
could taste, but Patty ; no one could roast, or boil, or bake, but 
Patty. Of course, all these things must be done by nobody else. 
The ironing of Mrs. Crumpe's caps, which had exquisitely nice 
plaited borders, at last fell to Patty's share ; because once, when 
the laundry-maid was sick, she plaited one so charmingly, that 
her lady would never afterwards wear any but of her plaiting. 
Now Mrs. Crumpe changed her cap, or rather had her cap 
changed, three times a day ; and never wore the same cap 

The labours of washing, ironing, plaiting, roasting, boiling, 
baking, making jelly, broth, and whey, were not sufficient: 
Mrs. Crumpe took it into her head that she could eat no butter 
but of Patty's churning. But, what was worse than a 1 -! not a 



night passed without Patty's being called up to see " what could 
be the matter with the dog that was barking, or the cat that was 
mewing?" And when she was just sinking to sleep again, at 
daybreak, her lady, in whose room she slept, would call out, 
" Patty ! Patty ! There's a dreadful noise in the chicken-yard." 

" Oh, ma'am, it is only the cocks crowing." 

" Well, do step out, and hinder them from crowing at this 
terrible rate." 

"But, ma'am, I cannot hinder them indeed." 

" Oh yes, you could, if you were up. Get up and whip 'em, 
child. Whip 'em all round, or I shall not sleep a wink more 
this night 2 ." 

How little poor Patty slept, her lady never considered : not 
that she was in reality an ill-natured woman, but sickness in- 
clined her to be peevish ; and she had so long been used to be 
humoured and waited upon by relations and servants, who ex- 
pected she would leave them rich legacies, that she considered 
herself as a sort of golden idol, to whom all that approached 
should and would bow as low as she pleased. Perceiving that 
almost all around her were interested, she became completely 
selfish. She was from morning till night, from night till morn- 
ing, nay, from year's end to year's end, so much in the habit of 
seeing others employed for her, that she absolutely considered 
this to be the natural and necessary course of things ; and she 
quite forgot to think of the comfort, or even of the well-being, of 
those creatures who were " born for her use, and live but to 
oblige her." 

From time to time she was so far awakened to feeling, by 
Patty's exertions and good-humour, that she would say, to quiet 
her own conscience, " Well! well ! I'll make it all up to her in 
my will ! I'll make it all up to her in my will !" 

She took it for granted that Patty, like the rest of her de- 
pendents, was governed entirely by mercenary considerations ; 
and she was persuaded that the hopes of this legacy would secure 
Patty her slave for life. In this she was mistaken. 

One morning Patty came into her room with a face full of 
sorrow ; a face so unlike her usual countenance, that even her 

2 Taken from life. 



mistress, unaccustomed as she was to attend to the feelings of 
others, could not help noticing the change. 

"Well! What's the matter, child?" said she. 

"Oh! sad news, madam!" said Patty, turning aside to hide 
her tears. 

"But what's the matter, child, I say? Can't you speak, 
whatever it is, hey ? What, have you burnt my best cap in the 
ironing, hey? Is that it?" 

" Oh ! worse, worse, ma'am !" 

" Worse ! What can be worse ?" 

" My brother, ma'am, my brother George, is ill, very ill of a 
fever; and they don't think he'll live! Here is my father's 
letter, ma'am !" 

"Lord! how can I read it without spectacles? and why 
should I read it, when you've told me all that's in it ? How the 
child cries!" continued Mrs. Crumpe, raising herself a little on 
her pillow, and looking at Patty with a sort of astonished curi- 
osity. " Heigho ! But I can't stay in bed this way till dinner- 
time. Get me my cap, child, and dry your eyes ; for crying 
won't do your brother any good." 

Patty dried her eyes. " No, crying will not do him any good," 
said she, "but " 

" But where is my cap? I don't see it on the dressing-table." 

" No, ma'am : Martha will bring it in a minute or two : she is 
plaiting it." 

" I will not have it plaited by Martha. Go and do it your- 

"But, ma'am," said Patty, who, to her mistress's surprise, 
stood still, notwithstanding she heard this order, " I hope you 
will be so good as to give me leave to go to my poor brother 
to-day. All the rest of my brothers and sisters are with him, 
and he wants to see me ; and they have sent a horse for me." 

" No matter what they have sent, you sha'n't go ; I can't 
spare you. If you choose to serve me, serve me. If you choose 
to serve your brother, serve your brother, and leave me." 

" Then, madam," said Patty, " I must leave you; for I cannot 
but choose to serve my brother at such a time as this, if I can 
serve him ; which God grant I mayn't be too late to do !" 

M What ! You will leave me ! Leave me contrary to my 



orders! Take notice, then : these doors you shall never enter 
again, if you leave me now," cried Mrs. Crumpe, who, by this 
unexpected opposition to her orders, was actually worked up to 
a state unlike her usual peevishness. She started up in her 
bed, and growing quite red in the face, cried, " Leave me now, 
and you leave me for ever. Remember that ! Remember that ! " 

"Then, madam, I must leave you for ever," said Patty 
moving towards the door. " I wish you your health and happi- 
ness, and am sorry to break so short." 

" The girl's an idiot !" cried Mrs. Crumpe. " After this you 
cannot expect that I should remember you in my will." 

" No, indeed, madam; I expect no such thing," said Patty. 
(Her hand was on the lock of the door as she spoke.) 

" Then," said Mrs. Crumpe, "perhaps you will think it worth 
your while to stay with me, when I tell you I have not forgot 
you in my will ? Consider that, child, before you turn the 
handle of the door. Consider that ; and don't disoblige me for 

" Oh, madam, consider my poor brother. I am sorry to 
disoblige you for ever ; but I can consider nothing but my poor 
brother," said Patty. The lock of the door turned quickly in her 

" Why ! Is your brother rich ? What upon earth do you 
expect from this brother, that can maks it worth your while to 
behave to me in this sti-ange way?" said Mrs. Crumpe. 

Patty was silent with astonishment for a few moments, and 
then answered, " I expect nothing from him, madam ; he is as 
poor as myself; but that does not make me love him the less." 

Before Mrs. Crunme could understand this last speech, Patty 
had left the room. Her mistress sat up in her bed, in the same 
attitude, for some minutes after she was gone, looking fixedly at 
the place where Patty had stood : she could scarcely recover 
from her surprise ; and a multitude of painful thoughts crowded 
upon her mind. 

" If I were dying, and poor, who would come to me ? Not a 
relation I have in the world would come near me ! Not a crea- 
ture on earth loves me as this poor girl loves her brother, who is 
as poor as herself." 

Here her reflections were interrupted by hearing the galloping 



of Patty's horse, as it passed by the windows. Mrs. Crumpe 
tried to compose herself again to sleep, but she could not ; and 
in half an hour's time she rang the bell violently, took her purse 
out of her pocket, counted out twenty bright guineas, and desired 
that a horse should be saddled immediately, and that her steward 
should gallop after Patty, and offer her that whole sum in hand, if 
she would return. "Begin with one guinea, and bid on till you 
come up to her price," said Mrs. Crumpe. "Have her back 
again I will, if it were only to convince myself that she is to be 
had for money as well as other people." 

The steward, as he counted the gold in his hand, thought it 
was a great sum to throw away for such a whim : he had never 
seen his lady take the whim of giving away ready money before ; 
but it was in vain to remonstrate ; she was peremptory, and he 

In two hours' time he returned, and Mrs. Crumpe saw ^er 
gold again with extreme astonishment. The steward said he 
could not prevail upon Patty even to look at the guineas. Mrs. 
Crumpe now flew into a violent passion, in which none of our 
readers will probably sympathize : we shall therefore forbear to 
describe it. 


When Patty came within half a mile of the cottage in which her 
father lived, she met Hannah, the faithful servant, who had 
never deserted the family in their misfortunes j she had been 
watching all the morning on the road for the first sight of 
Patty, but when she saw her, and came quite close up to her, 
she had no power to speak ; and Patty was so much terrified 
that she could not ask her a single question. She walked her 
horse a slow pace, and kept silence. 

" Won't you go on, ma'am ?" said Hannah at last, forcing 
herself to speak. " Won't you go on a bit faster ? He's almost 
wild to see you." 

"He is alive then!" cried Patty. The horse was in full 
gallop directly, and she was soon at her father's door. James 



and Frank were there watching for her : they lifted her from the 
horse ; and feeling that she trembled so much as to be scarcely 
able to stand, they would have detained her a little while in the 
air ; but she passed or rather rushed into the room where her 
brother lay. He took no notice of her when she came in, for 
he was insensible. Fanny was supporting his head ; she held 
out her hand to Patty, who went on tiptoe to the side of the bed. 
" Is he asleep ?" whispered she. 

" Not asleep, but He'll come to himself presently," con- 
tinued Fanny, " and he will be very, very glad you are come ; 
and so will my father." 

"Where is my father?" said Patty; " I don't see him." 

Fanny pointed to the farthest end of the room, where he was 
kneeling at his devotion. The shutters being half closed, she 
could but just see the faint beam which shone upon his grey 
hairs. He rose, came to his daughter Patty, with an air of 
resigned grief, and taking her hand between both of his, said, 
" My love — we must lose him — God's will be done !" 

" Oh ! there is hope, there is hope still !" said Patty. " See ! 
the colour is coming back to his lips again ; his eyes open ! 
Oh ! George, dear George, dear brother ! It is your own sister 
Patty : don't you know Patty ?" 

"Patty! — Yes. Why does she not come to me? I would 
go to her if I could," said the suffei-er, without knowing what 
he talked of. "Is not she come yet? Send another horse, 
Frank. Why, it is only six miles. Six miles in three hours, 
that is — how many miles an hour? ten miles, is it? Don't 
hurry her — don't tell her I'm so bad ; nor my father — dcn't let 
him see me, nor James, nor Frank, nor pretty Fanny, nor any 
body — they are all too good to me : I only wished to see poor 
Patty once before I die ; but don't frighten her — I shall be very 
well, tell her — quite well, by the time she comes." 

After running on in this manner for some time, his eyes 
closed again, and he lay in a state of stupor. He continued in 
this condition for some time : at last his sisters, who were watch- 
ing beside the bed, heard a knocking at the door. It was 
Frank and James : they had gone for a clergyman, whom 
George, before he became delirious, had desired to see. The 
clergyman was come, and with him a benevolent physician, who 



happened to be at his house, and who insisted upon accom- 
panying him. As soon as the physician saw the poor young 
man, and felt his pulse, he perceived that the ignorant apo- 
thecary, who had been first employed, had entirely mistaken 
George's disease, and had treated him improperly. His disease 
was a putrid fever, and the apothecary had bled him repeatedly. 
The physician thought he could certainly have saved his life, if 
he had seen him two days sooner ; but now it was a hopeless 
case. All that could be done for him he tried. 

Towards evening, the disease seemed to take a favourable 
turn. Geoi'ge came to his senses, knew his father, his brothers, 
and Fanny, and spoke to each with his customary kindness, as 
they stood round his bed : he then asked whether poor Patty 
was come ? When he saw her, he thanked her tenderly for 
coming to him, but could not recollect he had any thing parti- 
cular to say to her. 

" I only wished to see you all together, to thank you for your 
good-nature to me ever since I was born, and to take leave of 
you before I die ; for I feel that I am dying. Nay, do not cry 
so ! My father ! Oh ! my father is most to be pitied ; but he 
will have James and Frank left." 

Seeing his father's affliction, which the good old man strug- 
gled in vain to subdue, George broke off here : he put his hand 
to his head, as if fearing it was again growing confused. 

" Let me see our good clergyman, now that I am well enough 
to see him," said he. He then took a hand of each of his bro- 
thers and sisters, joined them together, and pressed them to his 
lips, looking from them to his father, whose back was now 
turned. "You understand me," whispered George : " he can 
never come to want, while you are left to work and comfort him. 
If I should not see you again in this world, farewell ! Ask my 
father to give me his blessing!" 

" God bless you, my son ! God bless you, my dear good son ! 
God will surely bless so good a son!" said the agonized father, 
laying his hand upon his son's forehead, which even now was 
cold with the damp of death. 

"What a comfort it is to have a father's blessing!" said 
George. " May you all have it when you are as I am now!" 

" I shall be out of this world long, long before that time, I 



hope," said the poor old man, as he left the room. "But God's 
will he done ! Send the clergyman to my hoy !" 

The clergyman remained in the room hut a short time : when 
he returned to the family, they saw hy his looks that all was 
over ! 

There was a solemn silence. 

" Be comforted," said the good clergyman. " Never man left 
this world with a clearer conscience, or had happier hope of a 
life to come. Be comforted. Alas ! at such a time as this you 
cannot be comforted by any thing that the tongue of man can 

All the family attended the funeral. It was on a Sunday, 
just before morning prayers ; and as soon as George was interred, 
his father, brothers, and sisters, left the churchyard, to avoid 
being seen by the gay people who were coming to their devotion. 
As they went home, they passed through the field in which 
Geoi-ge used to work : there they saw his heap of docks, and his 
spade upright in the ground beside it, just as he had left it, the 
last time that he had ever worked. 

The whole family stayed for a few days with their poor father. 
Late one evening, as they were all walking out together in the 
fields, a heavy dew began to fall ; and James urged his father to 
make haste home, lest he should catch cold, and should have 
another fit of the rheumatism. They were then at some distance 
from their cottage ; and Frank, who thought he knew a short 
way home, took them by a new road, which unluckily led them 
far out of their way ; it brought them unexpectedly within sight 
of their old farm, and of the new house which Mr. Bettesworth 
had built upon it. 

" Oh! my dear father, I am sorry I brought you this way," 
cried Frank. " Let us turn back." 

"No, my son, why should we turn back?" said his father 
mildly ; " we can pass by these fields, and this house, I hope, 
without coveting our neighbour's goods." 

As they came near the house, he stopped at the gate to look at 
it. " It is a good house," said he ; " but I have no need to en\y 
any man a good house ; I, that have so much better things — 
good children !" 

Just as he uttered these words, Mr. Bettesworth's house door 



opened, and three or four men appeared on the stone steps, 
quarrelling and fighting. The loud voices of Bullying Bob and 
Wild Will were heard too plainly. 

" We have no business here," said old Frankland, turning to 
his children : " let us go." 

The combatants pursued each other with such furious rapidity 
that they were near to the gate in a few instants. 

" Lock the gate, you without there, whoever you are ! Lock 
the gate ! or I'll knock you down when I come up, whoever you 
are ;" cried Bullying Bob, who was hindmost in the race. 

Wild Will was foremost; he kicked open the gate, but his 
foot slipped as he was going through : his brother overtook him, 
and, seizing him by the collar, cried, " Give me back the bank- 
notes, you rascal! they are mine, and I'll have 'em in spite of you." 

"They are mine, and I'll keep 'em in spite of you," retorted 
Will, who was much intoxicated. 

" Oh ! what a sight ! brothers fighting ! Oh ! part them, part 
them! Hold! hold! for Heaven's sake!" cried old Frankland 
to them. 

Frank and James held them asunder, though they continued 
to abuse one another in the grossest terms. Their father, by 
this time, came up : he wrung his hands, and wept bitterly. 

" Oh ! shame, shame to me in my old age !" cried he, " can't 
you two let me live the few years I have to live in peace ? Ah, 
neighbour Frankland, you are better off! My heart will break 
soon ! These children of mine will be the ruin and the death of 
me !" 

At these words the sons interrupted their father with loud 
complaints of the manner in which he had treated them. They 
had quarrelled with one another, and with their father, about 
money. The father charged them with profligate extravagance ; 
and they accused him of sordid avarice. Mr. Frankland, much 
shocked at this scene, besought them at least to return to their 
house, and not to expose themselves in this manner, especially 
now that they were in the station of gentlemen. Their passions 
were too loud and brutal to listen to this appeal to their pride ; 
their being raised to the rank of gentlemen could not give them 
principles or manners ; that can only be done by education. 
Despairing to effect any good, Mr. Frankland retired from this 



scene, and made the best of his way home to his peaceful 

"My children," said he to his family, as they sat down to 
their frugal meal, " we are poor, but we are happy in one 
another. Was not I right to say I need not envy neighbour 
Bettesworth his fine house ? Whatever misfortunes befall me, 
I have the blessing of good children. It is a blessing I would 
not exchange for any this world affords. God preserve them in 
health !" 

He sighed, and soon added, " It is a bitter thing to think of a 
good son, who is dead ; but it is worse, perhaps, to think of a 
bad son, who is alive. That is a misfortune I can never know. 
But, my dear boys and girls," continued he, changing his tone, 
" this idle way of life of ours must not last for ever. You are 
too poor to be idle ; and so much the better for you. To-morrow 
you must all away to your own business." 

" But, father," cried they all at once, " which of us may stay 
with you?" 

" None of you, my good children. You are all going on well 
in the world ; and I will not take you from your good masters 
and mistresses." 

Patty now urged that she had the strongest right to remain 
with her father, because Mrs. Crumpe would certainly refuse to 
receive her into her service again, after what had passed at their 
parting: but nothing could prevail upon Frankland; he posi- 
tively refused to let any of his children stay with him. At last 
Frank cried, " How can you possibly manage this farm with- 
out help ? You must let either James or me stay with you, 
father. Suppose you should be seized with another fit of the 
rheumatism ? " 

Frankland paused for a moment, and then answered, " Poor 
Hannah will nurse me if I fall sick. I am able still to pay her 
just wages. I will not be a burden to my children. As to this 
farm, I am going to give it up ; for, indeed," said the old man, 
smiling, " I should not be well able to manage it witli the 
rheumatism in my spade-arm. My landlord, farmer Hewit, is 
a good-natured friendly man ; and he will give me my own time 
for the rent: nay, he tells me he would let me live in this 
cottage for nothing : but I cannot do that." 



"Then what will you do, dear father?" said his sons. 

"The clergyman, who was here yesterday, has made interest 
for a house for me which will cost me nothing, nor him either ; 
and I shall be very near you both, boys." 

"But, father," interrupted Frank, "I know, by your way 
of speaking, there is something about this house which you do 
not like." 

" That is true," said old Frankland : " but that is the fault of 
my pride, and of my old prejudices ; which are hard to conquer 
at my time of life. It is certain, I do not much like the thoughts 
of going into an almshouse." 

"An almshouse!" cried all his children at once, in a tone of 
horror. " Oh ! father, you must not, indeed you must not, go 
into an almshouse ! " 

The pride which renders the English yeoman averse to live 
upon public charity is highly advantageous to the industry and 
Tirtue of the nation. Even where it is instilled early into 
families as a prejudice, it is useful, and ought to be respected. 

Frankland's children, shocked at the idea of their father's 
going into an almshouse, eagerly offered to join together the 
money they had earned, and to pay the rent of the cottage in 
which he now lived ; but Frankland knew that, if he took this 
money, his children would themselves be in distress. He an- 
swered with tears in his eyes, 

" My dear children, I thank you all for your goodness ; but 
I cannot accept of your offer. Since I am no longer able 
to support myself, I will not, from false pi-ide, be the ruin of 
my children. I will not be a burden to them; and I prefer 
living upon public charity to accepting of the ostentatious libe- 
rality of any one rich man. I am come to a resolution, which 
nothing shall induce me to break. I am determined to live in 
the Monmouth almshouse — nay, hear me, my children, patiently 
— to live in the Monmouth almshouse for one year ; and during 
that time I will not see any of you, unless I am sick. I lay my 
commands upon you not to attempt to see me till this day 
twelvemonth. If at that time you are all together able to main- 
tain me, without hurting yourselves, I will most willingly accept 
of your bounty for the rest of my days." 

His children assured him they should be able to earn money 



sufficient to maintain him, without injury to themselves, long 
before the end of the year ; and they besought him to permit 
them to do so as soon as it was in their power ; but he continued 
firm in his resolution, and made them solemnly promise they 
would obey his commands, and not even attempt to see him 
during the ensuing year. He then took leave of them in a most 
affectionate manner, saying, " I know, my dearest children, I 
have now given you the strongest possible motive for industry and 
good conduct. This day twelvemonth we shall meet again ; and 
I hope it will be as joyful a meeting as this is a sorrowful part- 
ing." His children, with some difficulty, obtained permission to 
accompany him to his new abode. 

The almshouses at Monmouth are far superior to common 
institutions of this kind ; they are remarkably neat and com- 
fortable little dwellings, and form a row of pretty cottages, 
behind each of which there is a garden full of gooseberries, 
currants, and a variety of useful vegetables. These the old men 
cultivate themselves. The houses are fitted up conveniently ; 
and each individual is provided with every thing that he wants 
in his own habitation : so that there is no opportunity or 
temptation for those petty disputes about property which often 
occur in charitable institutions that are not prudently conducted. 
Poor people who have their goods in common must necessarily 
become quarrelsome. 

"You see," said old Frankland, pointing to the shining row 
of pewter on the clean shelf over the fire-place in his little 
kitchen ; " you see I want for nothing here. I am not much to 
be pitied." 

His children stood silent and dejected, whilst he dressed him- 
self in the uniform belonging to the almshouse. Before they 
parted, they all agreed to meet at this place that day twelve- 
month, and to bring with them the earnings of the year ; they 
had hopes that thus, by their united efforts, a sum might be 
obtained sufficient to place their father once more in a state of 
independence. With these hopes they separated, and returned 
to their masters and mistresses 




Fatty went to Mrs. Crumpe's to get her clothes which she had 
left there, and to receive some months' wages, which were still 
due for her services. After what had passed, she had no idea 
that Mrs. Crumpe would wish she should stay with her ; and she 
had heard of another place in Monmouth, which she believed 
would suit her in every respect. 

The first person she saw, when she arrived at the house of her 
late mistress, was Martha, who, with a hypocritical length of 
face, said to her, "Sad news! sad news, Mrs. Patty! The 
passion my lady was thrown into, by your going away so sudden, 
was of terrible detriment to her. That very night she had a 
stroke of the palsy, and has scarce spoke since." 

" Don't take it to heart, it is none of your fault : don't take it 
to heart, dear Patty," said Betty, the housemaid, WI19 was fond 
of Patty. " What could you do but go to your brother? Here, 
drink this water, and don't blame yourself at all about the 
matter. Mistress had a stroke sixteen months ago, afore ever 
you came into the house; and I dare say she'd have had this 
last whether you had stayed or gone." 

Here they were interrupted by the violent ringing of Mrs. 
Crumpe's bell. They were in the room next to her; and, as she 
heard voices louder than usual, she was impatient to know what 
was going on. Patty heard Mrs. Martha answer, as she opened 
her lady's door, " 'Tis only Patty Frankland, ma'am, who is 
come for her clothes and her wages." 

" And she is very sorry to hear you have been so ill ; very 
sorry," said Betty, following to the door. 

" Bid her come in," said Mrs. Crumpe, in a voice more distinct 
than she had ever been heard to speak in since the day of her 

"What! are you sorry for me, child?" said Mrs. Crumpe, 
fixing her eyes upon Patty's. Patty made no answer ; but it was 
plain how much she was shocked. 

"Ay, I. see you are sorry for me," said her mistress. "And 
so am I for you," added she, stretching out her hand, and taking 
hold of Patty's black gown. " You shall have a finer stuff than 

Popular Tales. a a 



this for mourning for me. But I know that is not what you are 
thinking of ; and that's the reason I have more value for you 
than for all the rest of them put together. Stay with me, stay 
with me, to nurse me ; you nurse me to my mind. You cannot 
leave me in the way I am in now, when I ask you to stay." 

Patty could not without inhumanity refuse ; she stayed with 
Mrs. Crumpe, who grew so dotingly fond of her, that she could 
scarcely bear to have her a moment out of sight. She would 
take neither food ncr medicines but from Patty's hand ; and she 
would not speak, except in answer to Patty's questions. The 
fatigue and confinement she was now forced to undei-go were 
enough to hurt the constitution of any one who had not very 
strong health. Patty bore them with the greatest patience and 
good humour; indeed, the consciousness that she was doing 
right supported her in exertions which would otherwise have 
been beyond her power. 

She had still more difficult trials to go through : Mrs. Martha 
was jealou-j of her favour with her lady, and often threw out 
hints that some people had much more luck, and more cunning 
too, than other people ; but that some people might perhaps be 
disappointed at last in their ends. 

Patty went on her own straight way, without minding these 
insinuations at first ; but she was soon forced to attend to them. 
Mrs. Crumpe's relations received intelligence from Mrs. Martha, 
that her lady was growing worse and worse every hour; and 
that she was quite shut up under the dominion of an artful 
servant-girl, who had gained such power over her that there was 
no knowing what the consequence might be. Mrs. Crumpe's 
relations were much alarmed by this story : they knew she had 
made a will in their favour some years before this time, and 
they dreaded that Patty should prevail upon her to alter it, and 
should get possession herself of the fortune. They were parti- 
cularly struck with this idea, because an instance of undue power, 
acquired by a favourite servant-maid over her doting mistress, 
happened about this period to be mentioned in an account of a 
trial in the newspapers of the day, Mrs. Crumpe's nearest rela- 
tions were two grand-nephews. The eldest was Mr. Josiah 
Crumpe, a merchant who was settled at Liverpool ; the youngest 
was that ensign Bloomington, whom we formerly mentioned. 



He had been intended for a merchant, but he would never settle 
to business ; and at last ran away from the counting-house 
where he had been placed, and went into the army. He was 
an idle, extravagant young man : his great-aunt was by fits very 
angry with him, or very fond of him. Sometimes she would 
supply him with money ; at others, she would forbid him her 
presence, and declare he should never see another shilling of 
hers. This had been her latest determination ; but ensign 
Bloomingtoii thought he could easily get into favour again, and 
he resolved to force himself into the house. Mrs. Crumpe 
positively refused to see him : the day after this refusal he re- 
turned with a reinforcement, for which Patty was not in the 
least prepared : he was accompanied by Miss Sally Bettesworth, 
in a regimental riding-habit. Jessy had been the original object 
of this gentleman's gallantry ; but she met with a new and 
richer lover, and of course jilted him. Sally, who was in haste 
to be married, took undisguised pains to fix the ensign ; and she 
thought she was sure of him. But to proceed with our story. 

Patty was told that a lady and gentleman desired to see her in 
the parlour : she was scarcely in the room when Sally began 
in a voice capable of intimidating the most courageous of scolds, 
" Fine doings ! Fine doings, here ! You think you have the 
game in your own hands, I warrant, my Lady Paramount; but 
I'm not. one to be bullied, you know of old." 

"Nor am I one to be bullied, I hope," replied Patty, in a 
modest but firm voice. " Will you be pleased to let me know, 
in a quiet way, what are your commands with me, or my 

" This gentleman here must see your lady, as you call her. 
To let you into a bit of a secret, this gentleman and I is soon to 
be one ; so no wonder I stir in this affair, and I never stir for 
nothing ; so it is as well for you to do it with fair words as foul. 
Without more preambling, please to show this gentleman into 
his aunt's room, which sure he has the best right to see of any 
one in this world ; and if you prevent it in any species, I'll have 
the law of you; and I take this respectable woman," looking at 
Mrs. Martha, who came in with a salver of cakes and wine, r< I 
take this here respectable gentlewoman to be my witness, if you 
choose to refuse my husband (that is to be) admittance to his true 



and lawful nearest relation upon earth. Only say the doors are 
locked, and that you won't let him in ; that's all we ask of you. 
Mrs. Patty Paramount. Only say that afore this here witness." 

" Indeed, I shall say no such thing, ma'am," replied Patty; 
" for it is not in the least my wish to prevent the gentleman from 
seeing my mistress. It was she herself who refused to let him 
in ; and I think, if he forces himself into the room, she will be 
apt to be very much displeased : but I shall not hinder him, if he 
chooses to try. There are the stairs, and my lady's room is the 
first on the right hand. Only, sir, before you go up, let me 
caution you, lest you should startle her so as to be the death of 
her. The least surprise or fright might bring on another stroke 
in an instant." 

Ensign Bloomington aud Saucy Sally now looked at one 
another, as if at a loss how to proceed : they retired to a window 
to consult ; and whilst they were whispering, a coach drove up 
to the door. It was full of Mrs. Crumpe's relations, who came 
post-haste from Monmouth, in consequence of the alarm given 
by Mrs. Martha. Mr. Josiah Crumpe was not in the coach : 
he had been written ftu-, but was not yet arrived from Liver- 

Now, it must be observed, this coachful of relations were all 
•jnemies to ensign Bloomington ; and the moment they put their 
heads out of the carriage-window, and saw him standing in the 
parlour, their surprise and indignation weie too great for coherent 
utterance. With all the rashness of prejudice, they decided that 
he had bribed Patty to let him in and to exclude them. Possessed 
with this idea, they hurried out of the coach, passed by poor 
Patty who was standing in the hall, and beckoned to Mrs. 
Martha, who showed them into the drawing-room, and remained 
shut up with them there for some minutes. " She is playing us 
false," cried Saucy Sally, rushing out of the parlour. "I told 
you not to depend on that Martha ; nor on nobody but me : I 
said I'd force a way for you up to the room, and so I have ; and 
now you have not the spirit to take your advantage. They'll 
get in all of them before you ; and then where will you be, and 
what will you be ? " 

Mrs. Crumpe's bell rang violently, and Patty ran up stairs to 
her room. 



" I have been ringing for you, Patty, this quarter of an hour! 
What is all the disturbance I hear below?" 

" Your relations, ma'am, who wish to see you. I hope you 
won't refuse to see them, for they are very anxious." 

" Very anxious to have me dead and buried. Notcne cf them 
cares a groat for me. I have made my will, tell them ; and they 
will see that in time. I will not see one of them." 

By this time, they were all at the bedchamber doer, struggling 
which party should enter first. Saucy Sally's loud voice was 
heard, maintaining her right to be there, as wife elect to ensign 

" Tell them the first who enters this room shall never see a 
shilling of my money," cried Mrs. Crumpe. 

Patty opened the door; the disputants were instantly silent. 
" Be pleased, before you come in, to hearken to what my mistress 
says. Ma'am, will you say whatever you think proper your- 
self," said Patty ; " for it is too hard for me to be suspected of 
putting words into your mouth, and keeping your friends from 
the sight of you." 

" The first of them who comes into this room," cried Mrs. 
Crumpe, raising her feeble voice to the highest pitch she was 
able, "the first who enters this room shall never see a shilling of 
my money ; and so on to the next, and the next, and the next. 
I'll see none of you." 

No one ventured to enter. Their infinite solicitude to see how 
poor Mrs. Crumpe found herself to-day suddenly vanished. The 
two parties adjourned to the parlour and the drawing-room; and 
there was nothing in which they agreed, except in abusing Patty. 
They called for pen, ink, and paper, and each wrote Avhat they 
wished to say. Their notes were carried up by Patty herself; 
for Mrs. Martha would not run the risk of losing her own legacy 
to oblige any of them, though she had been bribed by all. With 
much difficulty, Mrs. Crumpe was prevailed upon to look at the 
notes ; at last she exclaimed, " Let them all come up ! all ; this 
moment tell them, all !" 

They were in the room instantly ; all, except Saucy Sally : 
ensign Bloomington pet-suaded her it was for the best that she 
should not appear. Patty was retiring, as soon, as she had 
shown them in ; but her mistress called to her, and bade her 



take a key, winch she held in her hand, and unlock an escritoir 
that was in the room. She did so. 

" Give me that parcel, which is tied up with red tape, and 
sealed with three seals," said Mrs. Crumpe. 

All eyes were immediately fixed upon it, for it was her will. 

She broke the seals deliberately, untied the red string, opened 
the huge sheet of parchment, and without saying one syllable 
tore it down the middle ; then tore the pieces again, and again, 
till they were so small that the writing could not be read. The 
spectators looked upon one another in dismay. 

"Ay! you may all look as you please," cried Mrs. Crumpe. 
" I'm alive, and in my sound senses still ; my money's my own ; 
my property's my own; I'll do what I please with it. You 
were all handsomely provided for in this will ; but you could not 
wait for your legacies till I was under ground. No ! you must 
come hovering over me, like so many ravens. It is not time 
yet ! It is not time yet ! The breath is not yet out of my body ; 
and when it is, you shall none of you be the better for it, I 
promise you. My money's my own ; my property's my own ; 
I'll make a new will to-morrow. Good bye to you all. I've 
told you my mind." 

Not the most abject humiliations, not the most artful caresses, 
not the most taunting reproaches, from any of the company, 
could extort another word from Mrs. Crumpe. Her disappointed 
and incensed relations were at last obliged to leave the house ; 
though not without venting their rage upon Patty, whom they 
believed to be the secret cause of all that had happened. After 
they had left the house, she went up to a garret, where she 
thought no one would see her or hear her, sat down on an old 
bedstead, and burst into tears. She had been much shocked 
by the scenes that had just passed, and her heart wanted this 

"Oh!" thought she, "it is plain enough that it is not riches 
which make people happy. Here is this poor lady, with heaps 
of money and fine clothes, without any one in this whole world 
to love or care for her, but all wishing her dead ; worried by 
her own relations, and abused by them, almost in her hearing, 
upon her death-bed ! Oh ! my poor brother ! How different it 
"was with you !" 



Patty's reflections were here interrupted by the entrance of 
Martha, who came and sat down on the bedstead beside her, 
and, with a great deal of hypocritical kindness in her manner, 
began to talk of what had passed ; blaming Mrs. Crumpe's 
relations for being so hard-hearted and inconsiderate as to force 
business upon her when she was in such a state. "Indeed, they 
have no one to thank but themselves, for the new turn things 
have taken. I hear my mistress has torn her will to atoms, 
and is going to make a new one ! To be sure, you, Mrs. Patty, 
will be handsomely provided for in this, as is, I am sure, be- 
coming ; and I hope, if you have an opportunity, as for certain 
you will, you won't forget to speak a good word for me!" 

Patty, who was disgusted by this interested and deceitful 
address, answered, sne had nothing to do with her mistress's 
will ; and that her mistress was the best judge of what should be 
done with her own money, which she did not covet. 

Mrs. Martha was not mistaken in her opinion that Patty 
would be handsomely remembered in this new will. Mrs. 
Crumpe the next morning said to Patty, as she was giving her 
some medicine, " It is for your interest, child, that I should get 
through this day, at least ; for if I live a few hours longer, you 
will be the richest single woman in Monmouthshire. I'll show 
them that all my money's my own ; and that I can do what I 
please with my own. Go yourself to Monmouth, child (as soon 
as you have plaited my cap), and bring me the attorney your 
brother lives with, to draw my new will. Don't say one word 
of your errand to any of my relations, I charge you, for your own 
sake as well as mine. The harpies would tear you to pieces ; 
but I'll show them that I can do what I please with my own. 
That's the least satisfaction I can have for my money before I 
die. God knows, it has been plague enough to me all my life 
long! But now, before I die " 

"Oh! ma'am," interrupted Patty, " there is no need to talk 
of your dying now ; for I have not heard you speak so strong, 
or so clear, nor seem so much yourself this long time. You 
may live yet, and I hope you will, to see many a good day ; 
and to make it up, if I may be so bold to say it, with all your 
relations : which, I am sure, would be a great ease to your 
heart ; and I am sure they are very sorry to have offended you *' 



" The girl's a fool !" cried Mrs. Crumpe. " Why, child, don't 
you understand me yet ? I tell you, as plain as I can speak, I 
mean to leave the whole fortune to you. Well ! what makes 
you look so hlank !" 

" Because, ma'am, indeed I have no wish to stand in any 
body's way ; and would not for all the world do such an unjust 
thing as to take advantage of your being a little angry or so 
with your relations, to get the fortune for myself: for I can do, 
having done all my life, without fortune well enough ; but I 
could not do without my own good opinion, and that of my 
father, and brothers, and sister ; all which I should lose, if I 
was to be guilty of a mean thing. So, ma'am," said Patty, " I 
have made bold to speak the whole truth of my mind to you ; 
and I hope you will not do me an injury, by way of doing me 
a favour. I am sure I thank you with all my heart for your 
goodness to me." 

Patty turned away as she finished speaking, for she was 
greatly moved. 

"You are a strange girl !" said Mrs. Crumpe. w I would not 
have believed this, if any one had sworn it to me. Go for the 
attorney, as I bid you, this minute. I will have my own way." 

When Patty arrived at Mr. Barlow's, she asked immediately 
for her brother Frank, whom she wished to consult ; but he was 
out, and she then desired to speak to Mr. Barlow himself. She 
was shown into his office, and she told him her business, without 
any circumlocution, with the plain language and ingenuous 
countenance of truth. 

" Indeed, sir," said she, " I should be glad you would come 
directly to my mistress and speak to her yourself; for she will 
mind what you say, and I only hope she may do the just thing 
by her relations. I don't want her fortune, nor any part of it, 
but a just recompense for my service. Knowing this, in my own 
heart, I forgive them for all the ill-will they bear me : it being 
all founded in a mistaken notion." 

There was a gentleman in Mr. Barlow's office who was sitting 
at a desk writing a letter, when Patty came in : she took him for 
one of the clerks. Whilst she was speaking, he turned about 
several times, and looked at her very earnestly. At last he went 
to a clerk, who was folding up some parchments, and asked who 



she was ? He then sat down again to his writing, without saying 
a single word. This gentleman was Mr. Josiah Crumpe, the 
Liverpool merchant, Mrs. Crumpe's eldest nephew, who had 
come to Monmouth, in consequence of the account he had heard 
of his aunt's situation. Mr. Barlow had lately amicably settled 
a suit between him and one of his relations at Monmouth ; and 
Mr. Crumpe had just been signing the deed relative to this 
affair. He was struck with the disinterestedness of Patty's con- 
duct ; but he kept silence that she might not find out who he 
was, and that he might have full opportunity of doing her 
justice hereafter. He was not one of the ravens, as Mrs. Crumpe 
emphatically called those who were hovering over her, impa- 
tient for her death : he had, by his own skill and industry, 
made himself not only independent, but rich. After Patty was 
gone, he with the true spirit of a British merchant declared, that 
he was as independent in his sentiments as in his fortune ; that 
he would not crouch or fawn to man or woman, peer or prince, 
in his majesty's dominions; no, not even to his own aunt. He 
wished his old aunt Crumpe, he said, to live and enjoy all she 
had as long as she could ; and if she chose to leave it to him 
after her death, well and good ; he should be much obliged to 
her : if she did not, why well and good ; he should not be obliged 
to be obliged to her : and that, to his humour, would perhaps be 
better still. 

With these sentiments Mr. Josiah Crumpe found no difficulty 
in refraining from going to see, or, as he called it, from paying 
his court to his aunt. " I have some choice West India sweet- 
meats here for the poor soul," said he to Mr. Barlow : " she 
gave me sweetmeats when I was a schoolboy; which I don't 
forget. I know she has a sweet tooth still in her head ; for she 
wrote to me last year, to desire I would get her some : but I did 
not relish the style of her letter, and I never complied with the 
order ; however, I was to blame : she is an infirm poor creature, 
and should be humoured now, let her be ever so cross. Take 
her the sweetmeats ; but mind, do not let her have a taste or a 
sight of them till she has made her will. I do not want to bribe 
her to leave me her money-bags ; I thank my God and myself, I 
want them not." 

Mr. Barlow immediately went to Mrs. Crumpe's. As she had 



land to dispose of, three witnesses were necessary to the will. 
Patty said she had two men-servants who could write ; but to 
make sure of a third, Mr. Barlow desired that one of his clerks 
should accompany him. Frank was out ; so the eldest clerk 
went in his stead. 

This clerk's name was Mason ; he was Frank's chief friend, 
and a young man of excellent character. He had never seen 
Patty till this day ; but he had often heard her brother speak of 
her with so much affection, that he was prepossessed in her 
favour, even before he saw her. The manner in which she 
spoke on the subject of Mrs. Crumpe's fortune quite charmed 
him ; for he was of an open and generous temper, and said to 
himself, " I would rather have this girl for my wife, without 
sixpence in the world, than any woman I ever saw in my life — 
if I could but afford it — and if she was but a little prettier. As 
it is, however, there is no danger of my falling in love with her; 
so I may just indulge myself in the pleasure of talking to her : 
besides, it is but civil to lead my horse and walk a part of the 
way with Frank's sister." 

Accordingly, Mason set off to walk a part of the way to 
Mrs. Crumpe's with Patty ; and they fell into conversation, in 
which they were both so earnestly engaged that they did not 
perceive how time passed. Instead, however, of part of the 
way, Mason walked the whole way ; and he and Patty were 
both rather surprised when they found themselves within sight 
of Mrs. Crumpe's house. 

What a fine healthy colour this walking has brought into her 
face, thought Mason, as he stood looking at her, whilst they 
were waiting for some one to open the door. Though she has 
not a single beautiful feature, and though nobody could call her 
handsome, yet there is so much good-nature in her countenance, 
that, plain as she certainly is, her looks are more pleasing to my 
fancy than those of many a beauty I have heard admired. 

The door was now opened ; and Mr. Barlow, who had arrived 
some time, summoned Mason to business. They went up to 
Mrs. Crumpe's room to take her instructions for her new will. 
Patty showed them in. 

" Don't go, child, I will not have you stir," said Mrs. Crumpe. 
" Now stand there at the foot of my bed, and, without hypocrisy,, 



tell me truly, child, your mind. This gentleman, who under- 
stands the law, can assure you that, in spite of all the relations 
upon earth, I can leave my fortune to whom I please, so do not 
let fear of my relations prevent you from being happy." 

" No, madam," interrupted Patty, " it was not fear that made 
me say what I did to you this morning ; and it is not fear that 
keeps me in the same mind still. I would not do what I thought 
wrong myself if nobody else in the whole world was to know it. 
But, since you desire me to say what I really wish, I have a 
father, who is in great distress, and I should wish you would 
leave fifty pounds to him." 

"With such principles and feelings," cried Mr. Barlow, "you 
are happier than ten thousand a year could make you ! " 

Mason said nothing ; but his looks said a great deal : and his 
master forgave him the innumerable blunders he made in draw- 
ing Mrs. Crumpe's will. "Come, Mason, give me up the pen," 
whispered he at last ; " you are not your own man, I see ; and 
I like you the better for being touched with good and generous 
conduct. But a truce with sentiment, now ; I must be a mere 
man of law. Go you and take a walk, to recover your legal 

The contents of Mrs. Crumpe's new will were kept secret: 
Patty did not in the least know how she had disposed of her 
fortune ; nor did Mason, for he had written only the preamble, 
when his master compassionately took the pen from his hand. 
Contrary to expectation, Mrs. Crumpe continued to linger on for 
some months ; and during this time, Patty attended her with 
the most patient care and humanity. Though long habits of 
selfishness had rendered this lady in general indifferent to the 
feelings of her servants and dependants, yet Patty was an ex- 
ception : she often said to her, " Child, it goes against my con- 
science to keep you prisoner here the best days of your life, in a 
sick room : go out and take a walk with your brothers and sister, 
I desire, whenever they call for you." 

These walks with her brothers and sister were very refreshing 
to Patty, especially when Mason was of the party, as he almost 
always contrived to be. Every day he grew more and more 
attached to Patty ; for every day he became more and more 



convinced of the goodness of her disposition and the sweetness 
of her temper. The affection which he saw her brothers and 
sister bore her, spoke to his mind most strongly in her favour. 
They have known her from her childhood, thought he, and 
cannot be deceived in her character. 'Tis a good sign that 
those who know her best love her most ; and her loving her 
pretty sister, Fanny, as she does, is a proof that she is incapable 
of envy and jealousy. 

In consequence of these reflections, Mason determined he 
would apply diligently to his business, that he might in due time 
be able to marry and support Patty. She ingenuously told him 
she had never seen the man she could love so well as himself; 
but that her first object was to earn some money, to release her 
father from the almshouse, where she could not bear to see him 
living upon charity. " When, amongst us all, we have accom- 
plished this," said she, "it will be time enough for me to think 
of marrying. Duty first and love afterwards." 

Mason loved her the better, when he found her so steady in 
her gratitude to her father ; for he was a man of sense, and knew 
that so good a daughter and sister would, in all probability, 
make a good wife. 

We must now give some account of what Fanny has been 
doing all this time. Upon her return to Mrs. Hungerford's, 
after the death of her brother, she was received with the greatest 
kindness by her mistress, and by all the children, who were 
really fond of her; though she had never indulged them in any- 
thing that was contrary to their mother's wishes. 

Mrs. Hungerford had not forgotten the affair of the kettle- 
drum. One morning she said to her little son, " Gustavus, your 
cm-iosity about the kettle-drum and the clarionet shall be 
satisfied : your cousin Philip will come here in a few days, and he 
is well acquainted with the colonel of the regiment which is 
quartered in Monmouth : he shall ask the colonel to let us have 
the band here, some day. We may have them at the farthest 
end of the garden ; and you and your brothers and sisters shall 
dine in the arbour, with Fanny, who upon this occasion parti- 
cularly deserves to have a share in your amusement." 

Ttie cousin Philip, of whom Mrs. Hungerford spoke, was no 



other than Frankland's landlord, young Mr. Folingsby. Besides 
lilting fine horses and fine curricles, this gentleman was a great 
admirer of fine women. 

He was struck with Fanny's beauty the first day he came to 
Mrs. Hungerford's : every succeeding day he thought her 
handsomer and handsomer ; and every day grew fonder and 
fonder of playing with his little cousins. Upon some pi'etence 
or other, he contrived to be constantly in the room with them 
when Fanny was there : the modest propriety of her manners, 
however, kept him at that distance at which it was no easy matter 
for a pretty girl, in her situation, to keep such a gallant gentleman. 
His intention, when he came to Mrs. Hungerford's, was to stay 
but a week ; but when that week was at an end, he determined to 
stay another : he found his aunt Hungerford's house uncommonly 
agreeable. The moment she mentioned to him her wish of 
having the band of music in the garden, he was charmed with 
the scheme, and longed to dine out in the arbour with the 
children ; but he dared not press this point, lest he should 
excite suspicion. 

Amongst other company who dined this day with Mrs. 
Hungerford was a Mrs. Cheviott, a blind lady, who took the 
liberty, as she said, to bring with her a young person, who was 
just come to live with her as a companion. This young person 
was Jessy Bettesworth ; or, as she is henceforth to be called, 
Miss Jessy Bettesworth. Since her father had " come in for 
Captain Bettesworth's fortin," her mother had spared no pains 
to push Jessy forward in the world ; having no doubt that "her 
beauty, when well dressed, would charm some great gentleman ; 
or, may be, some great lord !" Accordingly, Jessy was dizened 
out in all sorts of finery : her thoughts were wholly bent on 
fashions and flirting; and her mother's vanity, joined to her 
own, nearly turned her brain. 

Just as this fermentation of folly was gaining force, she 
happened to meet with Ensign Bloomington at a ball at Mon- 
mouth : he fell, or she thought he fell, desperately in love with 
her ; she of course coquetted with him : indeed, she gave him 
so much encouragement, that every body concluded they were 
to be married. She and her sister Sally were continually seen 
walking arm in arm with him in the streets of Monmouth ; ana 



morning, noon, and night, she wore the drop-earrings, of which 
he had made her a present. It chanced, however, that Jilting 
Jessy heard an officer, in her ensign's regiment, swear she was 
pretty enough to he the captain's lady instead of the ensign's ; 
and, from that moment, she thought no more of the ensign. 

He was enraged to find himself jilted thus hy a country girl, 
and determined to have his revenge : consequently he im- 
mediately transferred all his attentions to her sister Sally ; 
judiciously calculating that, from the envy and jealousy he had 
seen between the sisters, this would be the most effectual mode 
of mortifying his perfidious fair. Jilting Jessy said her sister was 
welcome to her cast-off sweethearts : and Saucy Sally replied, 
her sister was welcome to be her bridemaid ; since, with all her 
beauty, and all her airs, she was not likely to be a bride. 

Mrs. Bettesworth had always confessed that Jessy was her 
favourite : like a wise and kind mother, she took part in all 
these disputes; and set these amiable sisters yet more at 
variance, by prophesying that " her Jessy would make the 
grandest match." 

To put her into fortune's way, Mrs. Bettesworth determined to 
get her into some genteel family, as companion to a lady. Mrs. 
Cheviott's housekeeper was nearly related to the Bettesworths, 
and to her Mrs. Bettesworth applied. "But I'm afraid Jessy is 
something too much of a flirt," said the housekeeper, "for my 
mistress, who is a very strict, staid lady. You know, or at least 
we in Monmouth know, that Jessy was greatly talked of about a 
young officer here in town. I used myself to see her go trailing 
about, with her muslin and pink, and fine coloured shoes, in the 

" Oh ! that's all over now," said Mrs. Bettesworth : " the man 
was quite beneath her notice — that's all over now : he will do 
well enough for Sally ; but, ma'am, my daughter Jessy has quite 
laid herself out for goodness now, and only wants to get into some 
house where she may learn to be a little genteel." 

The housekeeper, though she had not the highest possible 
opinion of the young lady, was in hopes that, since Jessy had 
now laid herself out for goodness, she might yet turn out well; 
and, considering that she was her relation, she thought it her 
duty to speak in favour of Miss Bettesworth. In consequence of 



her recommendation, Mrs. Clieviott took J essy into her family ; 
and Jessy was particularly glad to be the companion of a blind 

She discovered, the first day she spent with Mrs. Cheviott, 
that, besides the misfortune of being blind, she had the still 
greater misfortune of being inordinately fond of flattery. Jessy 
took advantage of this foible, and imposed so far on the under- 
standing of her patroness, that she persuaded Mrs. Cheviott into 
a high opinion of her judgment and prudence. 

Things were in this situation when Jessy, for the first time, 
accompanied the blind lady to Mrs. Hungerford's. Without 
having the appearance or manners of a gentlewoman, Miss Jessy 
Bettesworth was, notwithstanding, such a pretty, showy girl, that 
she generally contrived to attract notice. She caught Mr. 
Folingsby's eye at dinner, as she was playing off her best airs 
at the side-table ; and it was with infinite satisfaction that she 
heard him ask one of the officers, as they were going out to walk 
in the garden, "Who is that girl? She has fine eyes, and a 
most beautiful long neck ! " Upon the strength of this whisper, 
Jessy flattered herself she had made a conquest of Mr. Folingsby ; 
by which idea she was so much intoxicated, that she could scarcely 
restrain her vanity within decent bounds. 

" Lord ! Fanny Frankland, is it you? Who expected to meet 
you sitting here ?" said she, when, to her great surprise, she saw 
Fanny in the arbour with the children. To her yet greater sur- 
prise, she soon perceived that Mr. Folingsby's attention was 
entirely fixed upon Fanny ; and that he became so absent 
he did not know he was walking upon the flower-borders. 

Jessy could scarcely believe her senses when she saw that her 
rival, for as such she now considered her, gave her lover no 
encouragement. "Is it possible that the girl is such a fool as 
not to see that this here gentleman is in love with her ? No ; 
that is out of the nature of things. Oh ! it's all artifice ; and I 
"will find out her drift, I warrant, before long!" 

Having formed this laudable resolution, she took her measures 
well for carrying it into effect. Mrs. Clieviott, being blind, had 
few amusements : she was extremely fond of music, and one of 
Mrs. Hungerford's daughters played remarkably well on the 
piano-forte. This evening, as Mrs. Cheviott was listening to the 



young lady's singing, Jessy exclaimed, "Oh! ma'am, how happy 
it would make you to hear such singing and music every day." 

" If she would come every day, when my sister is practising 
with the music-master, she might hear enough of it," said little 
Gustavus. "I'll run and desire mamma to ask her ; because," 
added he, in a low voice, " if I was blind, may be I should like 
it myself." 

Mrs. Hungerford, who was good-natured as well as polite, 
pressed Mrs. Cheviott to come, whenever it should be agreeable 
to her. The poor blind lady was delighted with the invitation, 
and went regularly every morning to Mrs. Hungerford's at the 
time the music-master attended. Jessy Bettesworth always 
accompanied her, for she could not go any where without a guide. 

Jessy had now ample opportunities of gratifying her malicious 
curiosity ; she saw, or thought she saw, that Mr. Folingsby was 
displeased by the reserve of Fanny's manners ; and she renewed 
all her own coquettish efforts to engage his attention. He 
amused himself sometimes with her, in hopes of rousing •Fanny's 
jealousy ; but he found that this expedient, though an infallible 
one in ordinary cases, was here totally unavailing. His passion 
for Fanny was increased so much, by her unaffected modesty, 
and by the daily proofs he saw of the sweetness of her disposi- 
tion, that he was no longer master of himself: he plainly told 
her that he could not live without her. 

"That's a pity, sir," said Fanny laughing, and trying to turn 
off what he said, as if it were only a jest. " It is a great pity, 
sir, that you cannot live without me ; for, you know, I cannot 
serve my mistress, do my duty, and live with you." 

Mr. Folingsby endeavoured to convince, or rather to per- 
suade her, that she was mistaken ; and swore that nothing with- 
in the power of his fortune should be wanting to make her happy. 

" Ah ! sir," said she, " your fortune could not make me happy, 
if I were to do what I know is wrong, what would disgrace me 
for ever, and what would break my poor father's heart!" 

"But your father shall never know any thing of the matter. 
I will keep your secret from the whole world : trust to my 

' Honour ! Oh ! sir, how can you talk to me of honour ! Do 
you think I do not know what honour is ; because I am poor? 



Or do you think I do not set any value on mine, though you do 
on yours ? Would you not kill any man, if you could, in a 
duel, for doubting of your honour? And yet you expect me to 
love you, at the very moment you show me, most plainly, how 
desirous you are to rob me of mine !" 

Mr. Folingsby was silent for some moments ; but, when he 
saw that Fanny was leaving him, he hastily stopped her, and 
said, laughing, " You have made me a most charming speech 
about honour ; and, what is better still, you looked most charm- 
ingly when you spoke it ; but now take time to consider what I 
have said to you. Let me have your answer to-morrow ; and 
consult this book before you answer me, I conjure you." 

Fanny took up the book as soon as Mr Folingsby had left the 
room ; and, without opening it, determined to return it imme- 
diately. She instantly wrote a letter to Mr. Folingsby, which 
she was just wrapping up with the book in a sheet of paper, 
when Miss Jessy Be ttes worth, the blind lady, and the music- 
master, came into the room. Fanny went to set a chair for the 
blind lady ; and, whilst she was doing so, Miss Jessy Be ttes worth, 
who had observed that Fanny blushed when they came in, slily 
peeped into the book, which lay on the table. Between the first 
pages she opened there was a five-pound bank-note ; she turned 
the leaf, and found another, and another, and another at every 
leaf! Of these notes she counted one-and-twenty ! whilst Fanny, 
unsuspicious of what was doing behind her back, was looking for 
the children's music-books. 

" Philip Folingsby ! So, so ! Did he give you this book, 
Fanny Frankland?" said Jessy, in a scornful tone: "it seems 
truly to be a very valuable performance ; and, no doubt, he had 
good reasons for giving it to you." 

Fanny coloured deeply at this unexpected speech ; and hesi- 
tated, from the fear of betraying Mr. Folingsby. " He did not 
give me the book : he only lent it to me," said she, " and I am 
going to return it to him directly." 

"Oh! no; pray lend it to me first," replied Jessy, in an 
ironical tone; "Mr. Folingsby, to be sure, would lend it to me as 
soon as to you. I'm growing as fond of reading as other folks, 
lately," continued she, holding the book fast. 

" I dare say, Mr. Folingsby would — Mr. Folingsby would 
Popular Tales. b b 



lend it to you, I suppose," said Fanny, colouring more and more 
deeply ; " but, as it is trusted to me now, I must return it safe. 
Pray let me have it, Jessy." 

" Oh ! yes ; return it, madam, safe ! I make no manner of 
doubt you will ! I make no manner of doubt you will !" replied 
Jessy, several times, as she shook the book; whilst the bank- 
notes fell from between the leaves, and were scattered upon the 
floor. " It is a thousand pities, Mrs. Cheviott, you can't see 
what a fine book we have got, full of bank-notes ! But Mrs. 
Hungerford is not blind at any rate, it is to be hoped," continued 
she, turning to Mrs. Hungerford, who at this instant opened the 

She stood in dignified amazement. Jessy had an air of 
malignant triumph. Fanny was covered with blushes ; but she 
looked with all the tranquillity of innocence. The childi-en 
gathered round her ; and blind Mrs. Cheviott cried, "What is 
going on ? What is going on? Will nobody tell me what is 
going on ? Jessy ! What is it you are talking about, Jessy?" 

" About a very valuable book, ma'am ; containing more than 
I can easily count, in bank-notes, ma'am, that Mr. Folingsby 
has lent, only lent, ma'am, she says, to Miss Fanny Frankland, 
ma'am, who was just going to return them to him, ma'am, when 
I unluckily took up the book, and shook them all out upon the 
floor, ma'am." 

" Pick them up, Gustavus, my dear," said Mrs. Hungerford, 
coolly. "From what I know of Fanny Frankland, lam in- 
clined to believe that whatever she says is truth. Since she has 
lived with me, I have never, in the slightest instance, found her 
deviate from the truth ; therefore I must entirely depend upon 
what she says." 

"Oh! yes, mamma," cried the children, all together, "that I 
am sure you may." 

" Come with me, Fanny," resumed Mrs. Hungerford; "it is 
not necessary that your explanation should be public, though I 
am persuaded it will be satisfactory." 

Fanny was glad to escape from the envious eye of Miss Jessy 
Bettesworth, and felt much gratitude to Mrs. Hungerford for 
this kindness and confidence ; but, when she was to make her 
explanation, Fanny was in great confusion. She dreaded to 



occasion a quarrel between Mr. Folingsby and his aunt; yet 
she knew not how to exculpate herself, without accusing him. 

"Why these blushes and tears, and why this silence, Fanny?" 
said Mrs. Hungerford, after she had waited some minutes, in 
expectation she would begin to speak. " Are not you sure of 
justice from me ; and of protection, both from slander and 
insult ? I am fond of my nephew, it is true ; but I think my- 
self obliged to you, for the manner in which you have con- 
ducted yourself towards my children, since you have had them 
under your care. Tell me then, freely, if you have any reason 
to complain of young Mr. Folingsby." 

"Oh! madam," said Fanny, "thank you a thousand times 
for your goodness to me. I do not, indeed, I do not wish to 
complain of any body ; and I would not for the world make 
mischief between you and your nephew. I would rather leave 
your family at once; and that," continued the poor girl, sob- 
bing, " that is what I believe I had best ; nay, is what I must 
and will do." 

" No, Fanny, do not leave my house, without giving me an 
explanation of what has passed this morning ; for, if you do, 
your reputation is at the mercy of Miss Jessy Be ttes worth's 

" Heaven forbid ! " said Fanny, with a look of real terror. 
" I must beg, madam, that you will have the kindness to return 
this book, and these bank-notes, to Mr. Folingsby ; and that you 
will give him this letter, which I was just going to wrap up in 
the paper, with the book, when Jessy Bettesworth came in and 
found the bank-notes, which I had never seen. These can 
make ^.o difference in my answer to Mr. Folingsby : therefore I 
shall leave my letter just as it was first written, if you please 5 

Fanny's letter was as follows : 

" SIR, 

" I return the book, which you left with me, as nothing it 
contains can ever alter my opinion on the subject of which you 
spoke to me this morning. I hope you will never speak to me 
again, sir, in the same manner. Consider, sir, that I am a poor 
unprotected girl. Tf you go on as you have done lately, I shatt 
b b 2 



be obliged to leave good Mrs. Hungerford, who is my only 
friend. Oh! where shall I find so good a friend? My poor 
old father is in the almshouse ! and there he must remain till his 
children can earn money sufficient to support him. Do not 
fancy, sir, that I say this by way of begging from you ; I would 
not, nor would he, accept of any thing that you could offer 
him, whilst in your present way of thinking. Pray, sir, have 
some compassion, and do not injure those whom you cannot 

" I am, sir, 

"Your humble servant, 

"Fanny Frankland." 

Mr. Folingsby was surprised and confounded, when this letter, 
and the book containing his bank-notes, were put into his hand 
by his aunt. Mrs. Hungerford told him by what means the 
book had been seen by Miss Jessy Bettesworth, and to what 
imputations it must have exposed Fanny. " Fanny is afraid of 
making mischief between you and me," continued Mrs. Hunger- 
ford ; " and I cannot prevail upon her to give me an explana- 
tion, which I am persuaded would be much to her honour." 

" Then you have not seen this letter ! Then she has decided 
without consulting you ! She is a charming girl!" cried Mr. 
Folingsby ; " and whatever you may think of me, I am bound, 
in justice to her, to show you what she has written : that will 
sufficiently explain how much I have been to blame, and how 
well she deserves the confidence you place in her." 

As he spoke, Mr. Folingsby rang the bell to order his horses. 
" I will return to town immediately," continued he ; " so Fanny 
need not leave the house of her only friend to avoid me. As to 
these bank-notes, keep them, dear aunt. She says her father is 
in great distress. Perhaps, now that I am come ' to a right way 
of thinking,' she will not disdain my assistance. Give her the 
money when and how you think proper. I am sure I cannot 
make a better use of a hundred guineas; and wish I had never 
thought of making a worse." 

Mr. Folingsby returned directly to town ; and his aunt 
thought he had in some measure atoned for his fault by Lis 
candour and generosity. 



Miss Jessy Bettesworth waited all this time, with malicious 
impatience, to hear the result of Fanny's explanation with Mrs. 
Hungerford. How painfully was she surprised and disap- 
pointed, when Mrs. Hungerford returned to the company, ta 
hear her speak in the highest terms of Fanny ! " Oh, mamma," 
cried little Gustavus, clapping his hands, " I am glad you think 
her good, because we all think so ; and I should be very sorry 
indeed if she was to go away, especially in disgrace." 

" There is no danger of that, my dear," said Mrs. Hunger- 
ford. " She shall never leave my house, as long as she desires 
to stay in it. I do not give, or withdraw, my protection, without 
good reasons." 

Miss Jessy Bettesworth bit her lips. Her face, which nature 
intended to be beautiful, became almost ugly ; envy and malice 
distorted her features ; and, when she departed with Mrs. 
Cheviott, her humiliated appearance was a strong contrast to 
the air of triumph with which she had entered. 


After Jessy and Mrs. Cheviott had left the room, one of the 
little girls exclaimed, " I don't like that Miss Bettesworth ; for 
she asked me whether I did not wish that Fanny was gone, 
because she refused to let me have a peach that was not ripe. I 
am sure I wish Fanny may always stay here." 

There was a person in the room who seemed to join most 
fervently in this wish : this was Mr. Reynolds, the drawing- 
master. For some time his thoughts had been greatly occupied 
by Fanny. At first, he was struck with her beauty ; but he had 
discovered that Mr. Folingsby was in love with her, and had 
carefully attended to her conduct, resolving not to offer himself 
till he was sure on a point so serious. Her modesty and pru- 
dence fixed his affections ; and he now became impatient to 
declare his passion. He was a man of excellent temper and 
character; and his activity and talents were such as to ensure 
independence to a wife and family. 

Mrs. Hungerford, though a proud, was not a selfish woman; 



she was glad that Mr. Reynolds was desirous to obtain Fanny, 
though she was sorry to part with one who was so useful in her 
family. Fanny had now lived with her nearly two years ; and 
she was much attached to her. A distant relation, about this 
time, left her five children a small legacy of ten guineas each. 
Gustavus, though he had some ambition to be master of a watch, 
was the first to propose that this legacy should be given to 
Fanny. His brothers and sisters applauded the idea; and Mrs. 
Hungerford added fifty guineas to their fifty. " I had put by 
this money," said she, "to purchase a looking-glass for my 
drawing-room ; but it will be much better applied in rewarding 
one who has been of real service to my children." 

Fanny was now mistress of two hundred guineas ; a hundred 
given to her by Mr. Folingsby, fifty by Mrs. Hungerford, and 
fifty by the children. Her joy and gratitude were extreme : for 
with this money she knew she could relieve her father ; this was 
the first wish of her heart ; and it was a wish in which her lover 
so eagerly joined that she smiled on him, and said, " Now I am 
sure you really love me." 

" Let us go to your father directly," said Mr. Reynolds. " Let 
me be present when you give him this money." 

"You shall," said Fanny; "but first I must consult my 
sister Patty and my brothers ; for we must all go together ; that 
is our agreement. The first day of next month is my father's 
birthday ; and, on that day, we are all to meet at the almshouse. 
What a happy day it will be !" 

But what has James been about all this time ? How has he 
gone on with his master, Mr. Cleghorn, the haberdasher? 

During the eighteen months that James had spent in Mr. 
Cleghorn's shop, he never gave his master the slightest reason 
to complain of him ; on the contrary, this young man made his 
employer's interests his own ; and, consequently, completely 
deserved his confidence. It was not, however, always easy to 
deal with Mr. Cleghorn ; for he dreaded to be flattered, yet 
could not bear to be contradicted. James was very near losing 
his favour for ever, upon the following occasion. 

One evening, when it was nearly dusk, and James was just 
shutting up shop, a strange-looking man, prodigiously corpulent, 
and with huge pockets to his coat, came in. He leaned his 



elbows on the counter, opposite to James, and stared him full in 
the face without speaking. James swept some loose money off 
the counter into the till. The stranger smiled, as if purposely 
to show him this did not escape his quick eye. There was in 
his countenance an expression of roguery and humour : the 
humour seemed to be affected, the roguery natural. "What 
are you pleased to want, sir?" said James. 
" A glass of brandy, and your master." 

" My master is not at home, sir ; and we have no brandy. 
You will find brandy, I believe, at the house over the way." 

" I believe I know where to find brandy a little better than 
you do ; and better brandy than you ever tasted, or the devil's 
in it," replied the stranger. " 1 want none of your brandy. I 
only asked for it to try what sort of a chap you were. So you 
don't know who I am ?" 

" No, sir; not in the least." 

" No ! Never heard of Admiral Tipsey ! Where do you come 
from ? Never heard of Admiral Tipsey ! whose noble paunch is 
worth more than a Laplander could reckon," cried he, striking 
the huge rotundity he praised. " Let me into this back parlour ; 
I'll wait there till your master comes home." 

"Sir, you cannot possibly go into that parlour; there is a 
young lady, Mr. Cleghorn's daughter, sir, at tea in that room : 
she must not be disturbed," said James, holding the lock of the 
parlour door. He thought the stranger was either drunk or pre- 
tending to be drunk ; and contended, with all his force, to 
prevent him from getting into the parlour. 

Whilst they were struggling, Mr. Cleghorn came home. 
" Heyday ! what's the matter ? O admiral, is it you?" said Mr. 
Cleghorn in a voice of familiarity that astonished James. " Let 
us by, James ; you don't know the admiral." 

Admiral Tipsey was a smuggler : he had the command of two 
or three smuggling vessels, and thereupon created himself an 
admiral : a dignity which few dared to dispute with him, whilst 
he held his oak stick in his hand. As to the name of Tipsey, no 
one could be so unjust as to question his claim to it; for he was 
never known to be pei-fectly sober, during a whole day, from 
one year's end to another. To James's great surprise, the ad- 
miral, after he had drunk one dish of tea, unbuttoned his waist- 



coat from top to bottom, and deliberately began to unpack hi? 
huge false corpulence ! Round him were wound innumerable 
pieces of lace, and fold after fold of fine cambric. When he was 
completely unpacked, it was difficult to believe that he was the 
same person, he looked so thin and shrunk. 

He then called for some clean straw, and began to stufFhimself 
out again to what he called a passable size. " Did not I tell you, 
young man, I carried that under my waistcoat which would make 
a fool stare ? The lace that's on the floor, to say nothing of the 
cambric, is worth full twice the sum for which you shall have it, 
Cleghoi-n. Good night. I'll call again to-morrow, to settle our 
affairs; but don't let your young man here shut the door, as he 
did to-day, in the admiral's face. Here is a cravat for you, not- 
withstanding," continued he, turning to James, and throwing 
him a piece of very fine cambric. " I must 'list you in Admiral 
Tipsey's service." 

James followed him to the dooi*, and returned the cambric in 
despite of all his entreaties that he would " wear it, or sell it, fcr 
the admiral's sake." 

"So, James," said Mr. Cleghorn, when the smuggler was gone, 
" you do not seem to like our admiral." 

" I know nothing of him, sir, except that he is a smuggler ; 
and for that reason I do not wish to have any thing to do with 

" I am sorry for that," said Mr. Cleghorn, with a mixture of 
shame and anger in his countenance : "my conscience is as nice 
as other people's ; and yet I have a notion I shall have something 
to do with him, though he is a smuggler ; and, if I am not mis- 
taken, shall make a deal of money by him. I have not had any 
thing to do with smugglers yet ; but I see many in Monmouth 
who are making large fortunes by their assistance. There is our 
neighbour, Mr. Raikes ; what a rich man he is become ! And 
why should I, or why should you, be more scrupulous than 
others? Many gentlemen, ay, gentlemen, in the country are 
connected with them ; and why should a shopkeeper be more 
conscientious than they? Speak; I must have your opinion." 

With all the respect due to his master, James gave it as his 
opinion that it would be best to have nothing to do with Admiral 
Tipsey, or with any of the smugglers. He observed that men 



who earned on an illicit trade, and who were in the daily habit 
of cheating, or of taking false oaths, could not be safe part- 
ners. Even putting morality out of the question, he remarked 
that the smuggling trade was a sort of gaming, by which one 
year a man might make a deal of money, and another might be 

"Upon my word!" said Mr. Cleghorn, in an ironical tone, 
" you talk very wisely, for so young a man ! Pray, where did 
you learn all this wisdom?" 

" From my father, sir ; from whom I learned every thing that 
I know ; every thing that is good, I mean. I had an uncle once, 
who was ruined by his dealings with smugglers; and who would 
have died in jail, if it had not been for my father. I was but a 
3 r oung lad at the time this happened ; but I remember my father 
saying to me, the day my uncle was arrested, when my aunt 
and all the children were crying, ' Take warning by this, my 
dear James : you are to be in trade, some day or other, yourself: 
never forget that honesty is the best policy. The fair trader will 
always have the advantage, at the long run.' " 

" Well, well, no more of this," interrupted Mr. Cleghorn. 
" Good night to you. You may finish the rest of your sermon 
against smugglers to my daughter there, whom it seems to suit 
better than it pleases me." 

The next day, when Mr. Cleghorn went into the shop, he 
scarcely spoke to James, except to find fault with him. This he 
bore with patience, knowing that he meant well, and that his 
master would recover his temper in time. 

" So the parcels were all sent, and the bills made out, as I 
desired," said Mr. Cleghorn. " You are not in the wrong there. 
You know what you are about, James, very well; but why should 
not you deal openly by me, according to your father's maxim, 
that ' honesty is the best policy V Why should not you fairly 
tell me what were your secret views, in the advice you gave me 
about Admiral Tipsey and the smugglers?" 

" I have no secret views, sir," said James, with a look of such 
sincerity that his master could not help believing him : " nor can 
I guess what you mean by secret views. If I consulted my own 
advantage instead of yours, I should certainly use all my in- 
fluence with you in favour of this smuggler : for here is a letter, 



which I received from him this morning, 'hoping for my 
friendship,' and enclosing a ten pound note, which I returned to 

Mr. Cleghorn was pleased by the openness and simplicity with 
which James told him all this ; and immediately throwing asid" 1 
the reserve of his manner, said, " James, I beg your pardon ; 1 
see I have misunderstood you. I am convinced you were not 
acting like a double dealer, in the advice you gave me last night. 
It was my daughter's colouring so much that led me astray. I 
did, to be sure, think you had an eye to her more than to me, in 
what you said : but if you had, I am sure you would tell me so 

James was at a loss to comprehend how the advice that he 
gave concerning Admiral Tipsey and the smugglers could relate 
to Miss Cleghorn, except so far as it related to her father. He 
waited in silence for a farther explanation. 

"You don't know, then," continued Mr. Cleghorn, "that 
Admiral Tipsey, as he calls himself, is able to leave his nephew, 
young Raikes, more than I can leave my daughter ? It is his 
whim to go about dressed in that strange way in which you saw 
him yesterday ; and it is his diversion to carry on the smuggling 
trade, by which he has made so much ; but he is in reality a 
rich old fellow, and has proposed that I should marry my 
daughter to his nephew. Now you begin to understand me, I 
see. The lad is a smart lad : he is to come here this evening. 
Don't prejudice my girl against him. Not a word more against 
smugglers, before her, I beg." 

"You shall be obeyed, sir," said James. His voice altered, 
and he turned pale as he spoke ; circumstances which did not 
escape Mr. Cleghorn's observation. 

Young Raikes, and his uncle, the rich smuggler, paid their 
visit. Miss Cleghorn expressed a decided dislike to both uncle 
and nephew. Her father was extremely provoked; and in the 
height of his anger, declared he believed she was in love with 
James Frankland ; that he was a treacherous rascal ; and that 
he should leave the house within three days, if his daughter did 
not, before that time, consent to marry the man he had chosen 
for her husband. It was in vain that his daughter endeavoured 
to soften her father's rage, and to exculpate poor James, by 



protesting lie had never directly or indirectly attempted to 
engage her affections ; neither had he ever said one syllable that 
could prejudice her against the man whom her father recom- 
mended. Mr. Cleghorn's high notions of subordination applied, 
on this occasion, equally to his daughter and to his foreman : 
he considered them both as presumptuous and ungrateful ; and 
said to himself, as he walked up and down the room in a rage, 
" My foreman to preach to me indeed ! I thought what he was 
about all the time ! But it sha'n't do — it sha'n't do ! My 
daughter shall do as I bid her, or I'll know why ! Have not I 
been all my life making a fortune for her? and now she won't 
do as I bid her ! She would, if this fellow were out of the 
house ; and out he shall go, in three days, if she does not come 
to her senses. I was cheated by my last shopman out of my 
money : I won't be duped by this fellow out of my daughter. 
No ! no ! Off he shall trudge ! A shopman, indeed, to think 
of his master's daughter without his consent ! What insolence ! 
What the times are come to ! Such a thing could not have 
been done in my days ! I never thought of my master's 
•daughter, I'll take my oath ! And then the treachery of the 
rascal ! To carry it all on so slily ! I could forgive him any 
thing but that : for that he shall go out of this house in three 
days, as sure as he and I are alive, if this young lady does not 
give him up before that time." 

Passion so completely deafened Mr. Cleghorn that he would 
not listen to James, who assured him he had never, for one 
moment, aspired to the honour of marrying his daughter. "Can 
you deny that you love her? Can you deny," cried Mr. 
Cleghorn, " that you turned pale yesterday, when you said I 
should be obeyed?" 

James could not deny either of these charges; but he firmly 
persisted in asserting that he had been guilty of no treachery ; 
that he had never attempted secretly to engage the young lady's 
affections ; and that, on the contrary, he was sure she had no 
suspicion of his attachment. " It is easy to prove all this to me, 
by persuading my girl to do as I bid her. Prevail on her to 
marry Mr. Raikes, and all is well." 

" That is out of my power, sir," replied James. " I have no 
right to interfere, and will not. Indeed, I am sure I should 



betray myself, if I were to attempt to say a word to Miss 
Cleghorn in favour of another man : that is a task I could not 
undertake, even if I had the highest opinion of this Mr. Raikes ; 
but I know nothing concerning him, and therefore should do 
wrong to speak in his favour merely to please you. I am sorry, 
very sorry, sir, that you have not the confidence in me which I 
hoped I had deserved ; but the time will come when you will do 
me justice. The sooner I leave you now, I believe, the better 
you will be satisfied ; and far from wishing to stay three days, I 
do not desire to stay three minutes in your house, sir, against 
your will." 

Mr. Cleghorn was touched by the feeling and honest pride 
with which James spoke. 

" Do as I bid you, sir," said he ; "and neither more nor less. 
Stay out your three days ; and may be, in that time, this saucy 
girl may come to reason. If she does not know you love her, 
you are not so much to blame." 

The three days passed away, and the morning came on which 
James was to leave his master. The young lady persisted in her 
resolution not to marry Mr. Raikes ; and expressed much concern 
at the injustice with which James was treated on her account. 
She offered to leave home, and spend some time with an aunt, 
who lived in the north of England. She did not deny that 
James appeared to her the most agreeable young man she 
had seen ; but added, she could not possibly have any thoughts 
of marrying him, because he had never given her the least 
reason to believe that he was attached to her. 

Mr. Cleghorn was agitated, yet positive in his determination 
that James should quit the house. James went into his master's 
room to take leave of him. "So then you are really going?" 
said Mr. Cleghorn. " You have buckled that portmanteau of 
yours like a blockhead; I'll do it better: stand aside. So you. 
are positively going ? Why, this is a sad thing ! But then it is 
a thing, as your own sense and honour tell you — it is a thing 
■ (Mr. Cleghorn took snuff at every pause of his speech ; 

but e»ven this could not carry him through it ;) when he pro- 
nounced the words, "It is a thing that must be done," the 
tears fairly started from his eyes. "Now this is ridiculous !" 
resumed he. " In my days, in my younger days, I mean, % 



man could part with his foreman as easily as he could take off 
his glove. I am sure my master would as soon have thought of 
turning bankrupt as of shedding a tear at parting with me ; 
and yet I was as good a foreman, in my day, as another. Not 
so good a one as you are, to be sure. But it is no time now to 
think of your goodness. Well ! what do we stand here for ? 
When a thing is to be done, the sooner it is done the better. 
Shake hands before you go." 

Mr. Cleghorn put into James's hand a fifty pound note, and a 
letter of recommendation to a Liverpool merchant. James left 
the house without taking leave of Miss Cleghorn, who did not 
think the worse of him for his want of gallantry. His master 
had taken care to recommend him to an excellent house in 
Liverpool, where his salary would be nearly double that which 
he had hitherto received ; but James was notwithstanding very 
sorry in leave Monmouth, where his dear brother, sister, and 
father li ved, — to say nothing of Miss Cleghorn. 

Late at night, James was going to the inn at which the Liver- 
pool stage set up, where he was to sleep : as he passed through a 
street that leads down to the river Wye, he heard a great noise 
of men quarrelling violently. The moon shone bright, and he 
saw a party of men who appeared to be fighting in a boat that 
was just come to shore. He asked a person who came out of 
the public-house, and who seemed to have nothing to do with 
the fray, what was the matter? "Only some smugglers, who 
are quarrelling with one another about the division of their 
booty," said the passenger, who walked on, eager to get out of 
their way. James also quickened his pace, but presently heard 
the cry of "Murder! murder! Help! help!" and then all was 

A few seconds afterwards he thought that he heard groans. 
He could not forbear going to the spot whence the groans pro- 
ceeded, in hopes of being of some service to a fellow-creature 
By the time he got thither, the groans had ceased : he looked 
about, but could only see the men in the boat, who were rowing 
fast down the river. As he stood on the shore listening, he for 
some minutes heard no sound but that of their oars ; but after- 
wards a man in the boat exclaimed, with a terrible oath, "There 
he is ! There he is ! All alive again ! We have not done hia 



business! D — n it, he'll do ours !" The boatmen rowed faster 
away, and James again heard the groans, though they were 
now much feebler than before. He searched and found the 
wounded man ; who, having been thrown overboard, had with 
great difficulty swam to shore, and fainted with the exertion as 
soon as he reached the land. When he came to his senses, he 
begged James, for mercy's sake, to carry him into the next 
public-house, and to send for a surgeon to dress his wounds. 
The surgeon came, examined them, and declared his fears that 
the poor man could not live four-and-twenty hours. As soon 
as he was able to speak intelligibly, he said he had been 
drinking with a party of smugglers, who had just brought in 
some fresh brandy, and that they had quarrelled violently about 
a keg of contraband liquor: he said that he could swear to the 
man who gave him the mortal wound. 

The smugglers were pursued immediately, and taken. When 
they were brought into the sick man's room, James beheld 
amongst them three persons whom he little expected to meet in 
such a situation : Idle Isaac, Wild Will, and Bullying Bob. The 
wounded man swore positively to their persons. Bullying Bob 
was the person who gave him the fatal blow ; but Wild Will 
began the assault, and Idle Isaac shoved him overboard ; they 
were all implicated in the guilt ; and, instead of expressing any 
contrition for their crime, began to dispute about which was 
most to blame : they appealed to James ; and, as he would be 
subpoenaed on their trial, each endeavoured to engage him in 
his favour. Idle Isaac took him aside, and said to him, " You 
have no reason to befriend my brothers. I can tell you a 
secret: they are the greatest enemies your family ever had. Tt 
was they who set fire to your father's hay-rick. Will was pro- 
voked by your sister Fanny's refusing him ; so he determined, as 
he told me, to carry her off ; and he meant to have done so, in 
the confusion that was caused by the fire ; but Bob and he 
quarrelled the very hour that she was to have been carried oft"; 
so that part of the scheme failed. Now I had no hand in all 
this, being fast asleep in my bed ; so I have more claim to your 
good word, at any rate, than my brothers can have : and so, 
■when we come to trial, I hope you'll speak to my character." 

Wild Will next tried his eloquence. As soon as he found that 



nis brother Isaac had betrayed the secret, he went to James, 
and assured him the mischief that had been done was a mere 
accident ; that it was true he had intended, for the frolic's sake, 
to raise a cry of fire, in order to draw Fanny out of the house ; 
but that lie was shocked when he found how the jest ended. 

As to Bullying Bob, he brazened the matter out ; declaring 
he had been affronted by the Franklands, and that he was glad 
"he had taken his revenge of them ; that, if the thing was to be 
jone over again, he would do it; that James might give him 
what character he pleased upon trial, for that a man could be 
hanged but once. 

Such were the absurd, bravadoing speeches he made, while 
he had an alehouse audience round him, to admire his spirit ; 
but a few hours changed his tone. He and his brothers were 
taken before a magistrate. Till the committal was actually 
made out, they had hopes of being bailed: they had despatched 
a messenger to Admiral Tipsey, whose men they called them- 
selves, and expected he would offer bail for them to any amount ; 
but the bail of their friend Admiral Tipsey was not deemed 
sufficient by the magistrate. 

" In the first place, I could not bail these men ; and if I could, 
do you think it possible," said the magistrate, " I could take the 
bail of such a man as that?" 

" I understood that he was worth a deal of money," whispered 

" You are mistaken, sir," said the magistrate : "he is what he 
deserves to be, a ruined man. I have good reasons for knowing 
this. He has a nephew, a Mr. Raikes, who is a gamester : 
whilst the uncle has been carrying on the smuggling trade here, 
at the hazard of his life, the nephew, who was bred up at Oxford 
to be a fine gentleman, has gamed away all the money his uncle 
has made during twenty years, by his contraband traffic. At 
the long run, these fellows never thrive. Tipsey is not worth a 

James was much surprised by this information, and resolved 
to return immediately to Mr. Cleghorn, to tell him what he had 
heard, and put him on his guard. 

Early in the morning he went to his house — " You look as if 
you were not pleased to see me again," said he to Mr. Cleghorn ; 



" and perhaps you will impute what I am going to say to bad 
motives ; but my regard to you, sir, determines me to acquaint 
you with what I have heard : you will make what use of the in- 
formation you please." 

James then related what had passed at the magistrate's ; and 
when Mr. Cleghorn had heard all that he had to say, he thanked 
him in the strongest manner for this instance of his regard; and 
begged he would remain in Monmouth a few days longer. 

Alarmed by the information he received from James, Mr. 
Cleghorn privately made inquiries concerning young Raikes and 
his uncle. The distress into which the young man had plunged 
himself by gambling had been kept a profound secret from his 
relations. It was easy to deceive them as to his conduct, be- 
cause his time had been spent at a distance from them : he had 
but just returned home, after completing his education. 

The magistrate from whom James first heard of his extrava- 
gance happened to have a son at Oxford, who gave him this 
intelligence: he confirmed all he had said to Mr. Cleghorn, who 
trembled at the danger to which he had exposed his daughter. 
The match with young Raikes was immediately broken off; and 
all connexion with Admiral Tipsey and the smugglers was for 
ever dissolved by Mr. Cleghorn. 

His gratitude to James was expressed w T ith all the natural 
warmth of his character. "Come back and live with me," said 
he. " You have saved me and my daughter from ruin. You 
shall not be my shopman any longer, you shall be my partner : 
and, you know, when you are my partner, there can be nothing 
said against your thinking of my daughter. But all in good 
time. I would not have seen the girl again if she had married 
my shopman ; but my partner will be quite another thing. 
You have worked your way up in the world by your own de- 
serts, and I give you joy. I believe, now it's over, it would 
have gone nigh to break my heart to part with you ; but you 
must be sensible I was right to keep up my authority in my own 
family. Now things are changed : I give my consent : nobody 
has a right to say a word. When I am pleased with my 
daughter's choice, that is enough. There's only one thing that 
goes against my pride : your father " 

" Oh ! sir, ' ' interrupted James, " if you are going to say any 



thing disrespectful of my father, do not say it to me ; I beseech 
you, do not ; for I cannot bear it. Indeed I cannot, and will 
not. He is the best of fathers ! " 

" I am sure he has the best of children ; and a greater bless- 
ing tbere cannot be in this world. I was not going to say any 
thing disrespectful of him : I was only going to lament that he 
should be in an almshouse," said Mr. Cleghorn. 

" He has determined to remain there," said James, "till his 
children have earned money enough to support him witnout 
hurting themselves. I, my brother, and both my sisters, are to 
meet at the almshouse on the first day of next month, which is 
my father's birthday; then we shall join all our earnings toge- 
ther, and see what can be done." 

" Remembei*, you are my partner," said Mr. Cleghorn. " On 
that day you must take me along with you. My good-will is 
part of your earnings, and my good-will shall never be shown 
merely in words." 


It is now time to give some account of the Bettesworth family. 
The history of their indolence, extravagance, quarrels, and ruin, 
shall be given as shortly as possible. 

The fortune left to them by Captain Bettesworth was nearly 
twenty thousand pounds. When they got possession of this 
sum, they thought it could never be spent ; and each individual 
of the family had separate plans of extravagance, for which they 
required separate supplies. Old Bettesworth, in his youth, had 
seen a house of Squire Somebody, which had struck his imagi- 
nation, and he resolved he would build just such another. This 
was his favourite scheme, and he was delighted with the thoughts 
that it would be realized. His wife and his sons opposed the 
plan, merely because it was his ; and consequently he became 
more obstinately bent upon having his own way, as he said, for 
once in his life. He was totally ignorant of building ; and no 
less incapable, from his habitual indolence, of managing work- 
men : the house might have been finished for one thousand five 
hundred pounds ; it cost him two thousand pounds : and when 

Popular Tales. c c 



it was done, the roof let in the rain in sundry places, the new- 
ceilings and cornices were damaged, so that repairs and a 
new roof, with leaden gutters, and leaden statues, cost him some 
additional hundreds. The furnishing of the house Mrs. Bettes- 
worth took upon herself ; and Sally took upon herself to find 
fault with every article that her mother bought. The quarrels 
were loud, bitter, and at last irreconcileable. There was a look- 
ing-glass which the mother wanted to have in one room, and 
the daughter insisted upon putting it into another: the looking- 
glass was hroken between them in the heat of battle. The 
blame was laid on Sally, who, in a rage, declared she would not 
and could not live in the house with her mother. Her mother 
was rejoiced to get rid of her, and she went to live with a 
lieutenant's lady in the neighbourhood, with whom she had been 
acquainted three weeks and two days. Half by scolding, half 
by cajoling her father, she prevailed upon him to give her two 
thousand pounds for her fortune ; promising never to trouble 
him any more for any thing. 

As soon as she was gone, Mrs. Bettesworth gave a house- 
warming, as she called it, to all her acquaintance ; a dinner, a 
ball, and a supper, in her new house. The house was not half 
dry, and all the company caught cold. Mrs. Bettesworth's cold 
was the most severe. It happened at this time to be the fashion 
to go almost without clothes ; and as this lady was extremely 
vain and fond of dress, she would absolutely appear in the 
height of fashion. The Sunday after her ball, whilst she had 
still the remains of a bad cold, she positively would go to church, 
equipped in one petticoat, and a thin muslin gown, that she 
might look as young as her daughter Jessy. Every body 
laughed, and Jessy laughed more than any one else ; but, in 
the end, it was no laughing matter; Mrs. Bettesworth "caught 
her death of cold." She was confined to her bed on Monday, 
and was buried the next Sunday. 

Jessy, who had a great notion that she should marry a lord, if 
she could but once get into company with one, went to live with 
blind Mrs. Cheviott ; where, according to her mother's instruc- 
tions, " she laid herself out for goodness." She also took two 
thousand pounds with her, upon her promise never to trouble 
her father more. 



Her brothers perceived how much was to be gained by tor- 
menting a father, who gave from weakness, and not from a 
sense of justice, or a feeling of kindness ; and they soon rendered 
themselves so troublesome that he was obliged to buy off their 
reproaches. Idle Isaac was a sportsman, and would needs have 
a pack of hounds : they cost him two hundred a year. Then 
he would have race-horses ; and by them he soon lost some 
thousands. He was arrested for the money, and his father was 
forced to pay it. 

Bob and Will soon afterwards began to think, " it was very 
hard that so much was to be done for Isaac, and nothing for 
them ! " 

Wild Will kept a mistress ; and Bullying Bob was a cock- 
fighter : their demands for money were frequent and uncon- 
scionable ; and their continual plea was, " Why, Isaac lost a 
thousand by his race-horses, and why should not we have our 
share ? " 

The mistress and the cockpit had their share ; and the poor 
old father, at last, had only one thousand left. He told his sons 
this, with tears in his eyes : " I shall die in a jail, after all ! " 
said he. They listened not to what he said, for they were 
intent upon the bank-notes of this last thousand, which were 
spread upon the table before him. Will, half in jest, half in 
earnest, snatched up a parcel of the notes ; and Bob insisted on 
dividing the treasure. Will fled out of the house ; Bob pursued 
him, and they fought at the end of their own avenue. 

This was on the day that Frankland and his family were re- 
turning from poor George's funeral, and saw the battle betwixt 
the brothers. They were shamed into a temporary recon- 
ciliation, and soon afterwards united against their father, whom 
they represented to all the neighbours as the most- cruel and the 
most avaricious of men, because he would not part with the very 
means of subsistence to supply their profligacy. 

Whilst their minds were in this state, Will happened to become 
acquainted with a set of smugglers, whose disorderly life struck 
his fancy. He persuaded his brothers to leave home with him, 
and to list in the service of Admiral Tipsey. Their manners then 
became more brutal ; and they thought, felt, and lived like men 
of desperate fortunes. The consequence we have seen. In a 
c c 2 



quarrel about a keg of brandy, at an alehouse, their passions got 
the better of them, and, on entering their boat, they committed 
the otience for which they were now imprisoned. 

Mr. Barlow was the attorney to whom they applied, and they 
endeavoured to engage him to manage their cause on their trial ; 
but he absolutely refused. From the moment he heard from 
James that Will and Bob Bettesworth were the persons who set 
fire to Frankland's hay-stack, he urged Frank to prosecute them 
for this crime. " When you only suspected them, my dear 
Frank, I strongly dissuaded you from going to law : but now 
you cannot fail to succeed, and you will recover ample damages." 

" That is impossible, my dear sir," replied Frank; "for the 
Bettesworths, I understand, are ruined." 

" I am sorry for that, on your account; but I still think you 
ought to carry on this prosecution, for the sake of public justice. 
Such pests of society should not go unpunished." 

" They will probably be punished sufficiently for this unfortu- 
nate assault, for which they are now to stand their trial. I cannot, 
in their distress, revenge either my own or my father's wrongs. 
I am sure he would be sorry if I did ; for I have often and often 
heard him say, 'Never trample upon the fallen.' " 

"You are a good, generous young man," cried Mr. Barlow , 
" and no wonder you love the father who inspired you with such 
sentiments, and taught you such principles. But what a shame 
it is that such a father should be in an almshouse ! You say he 
will not consent to be dependent upon any one ; and that he will 
not accept of relief from any but his own children. This is pride; 
but it is an honourable species of pride ; fit for an English yeo- 
man. I cannot blame it. But, my dear Frank, tell your father 
he must accept of your friend's credit, as well as of yours. Your 
credit with me is such, that you may draw upon me for five 
hundred pounds whenever you please. No thanks, my boy. 
half the money I owe you for your services as my clerk ; and the 
other half is well secured to me, by the certainty of your future 
diligence and success in business. You will be able to pay me 
in a year or two ; so I put you under no obligation, remember. 
I will take your bond for half the money, if that will satisfy you 
and your proud father." 

The manner in which this favour was conferred touched Frank 



to the heart. He had a heart which could be strongly moved by 
kindness. He was beginning to express his gratitude, when Mr. 
Barlow interrupted him with, " Come, come ! Why do we 
waste our time here, talking sentiment, when we ought to be 
writing law? Here is work to be done, which requires some 
expedition : a marriage settlement to be drawn. Guess for 

Frank guessed all the probable matches amongst his Monmouth 
acquaintance ; but he was rather surprised when told that the 
bridegroom was to be young Mr. Folingsby ; as it was scarcely 
two months since this gentleman was in love with Fanny Frank- 
land. Frank proceeded to draw the settlement. 

Whilst he and Mr. Barlow were writing, they were inter- 
rupted by the entrance of Mr. Josiah Crumpe. He came to 
announce Mrs. Crumpe 's death, and to request Mr. Barlow's 
attendance at the opening of her will. This poor lady had lin- 
gered out many months longer than it was thought she could 
possibly live ; and during all her sufferings, Patty, with indefati- 
gable goodness and temper, bore with the caprice and peevishness 
of disease. Those who thought she acted merely from interested 
motives expected to find she had used her power over her 
mistress's mind entirely for her own advantage : they were 
certain a great part of the fortune would be left to her. Mrs. 
Crumpe's relations were so persuaded of this, that, when they 
were assembled to hear her will read by Mr. Barlow, they began 
to say to one another in whispers, "We'll set the will aside; 
we'll bring her into the courts : Mrs. Crumpe was not in her 
right senses when she made this will : she had received two 
paralytic strokes; we can prove that: we can set aside the will." 

Mr. Josiah Crumpe was not one of these whisperers; he set 
apart from them, leaning on his oaken stick in silence. 

Mr. Barlow broke the seals of the will, opened it, and read it to 
the eager company. They were much astonished when they found 
that the whole fortune was left to Mr. Josiah Crumpe. The reason 
for this bequest was given in these words : 

" Mr. Josiah Crumpe, being the only one of my relations who 
did not torment me for my money, even upon my death-bed, I 
trust that he will provide suitably for that excellent girl, Patty 
Frankland. On this head he knows my wishes. By her own 



desire, I have not myself left her any thing ; I have only be- 
queathed fifty pounds for the use of her father." 

Mr. Josiah Crumpe was the only person who heard unmoved 
the bequest that was made to him ; the rest of the relations were 
clamorous in their reproaches, or hypocritical in their congratu- 
lations. AH thoughts of setting aside the will were, however, 
abandoned ; every legal form had been observed, and with a 
technical nicety that precluded all hopes of successful litigation. 

Mr. Crumpe arose, as soon as the tumult of disappointment had 
somewhat subsided, and counted with his oaken stick the 
numbers that were present. " Here are ten of you, I think. 
Well ! you, every soul of you, hate me ; but that is nothing to the 
purpose. I shall keep up to the notion I have of the character 
of a true British merchant, for my own sake — not for yours. I 
don't want this woman's money ; I have enough of my own, 
and of my own honest making, without legacy hunting. Why 
did you torment the dying woman ? You would have been 
better off, if you had behaved better ; but that's over now. A 
thousand pounds a-piece you shall have from me, deducting fifty 
pounds, which you must each of you give to that excellent girl, 
Patty Frankland. I am sure you must be all sensible of )'our 
injustice to her." 

Fully aware that it was their interest to oblige Mr. Crumpe, 
they now vied with each other in doing justice to Patty. Some 
even declared they had never had any suspicions of her ; and 
others laid the blame on the false representations and informa- 
tion which they said they had had from the mischief-making 
Mrs. Martha. They very willingly accepted of a thousand 
pounds a-piece ; and the fifty pounds deduction was paid as a 
tax by each to Patty's merit. 

Mistress now of five hundred pounds, she exclaimed, " Oh ! 
my dear father ! You shall no longer live in an almshouse ! 
To-morrow will be the happiest day of my life ! I don't know 
how to thank you as I ought, sir," continued she, turning to her 

"You have thanked me as you ought, and ns I like best," 
said this plain-spoken merchant, " and now let us say no more 
about it." 

In obedience to Mr. Crumpe's commands, Patty said no more 



to him ; but she was impatient to tell her brother Frank, and 
her lover, Mr. Mason, of her good fortune : she therefore re- 
turned to Monmouth with Mr. Barlow, in hopes of seeing them 
immediately ; but Frank was not at work at the marriage settle- 
ment. Soon after Mr. Barlow left him, he was summoned to 
attend the trial of the Bettesworths. 

These unfortunate young men, depending on Frank's good 
nature, well knowing he had refused to prosecute them for 
setting fire to his father's hay-rick, thought they might venture 
to call upon him to give them a good character. " Consider, 
dear Frank," said Will Bettesworth, "a good word from one of 
your character might do a great deal for us. You were so many 
years our neighbour. If you would only just say that we were 
never counted wild, idle, quarrelsome fellows, to your knowledge. 
Will you?" 

"How can I do that?" said Frank: "or how could I be be- 
lieved, if I did, when it is so well known in the country — forgive 
me ; at such a time as this I cannot mean to taunt you : but it 
is well known in the country that you were called Wild Will, 
Bullying Bob, and Idle Isaac." 

"There's the rub!" said the attorney who was employed for 
the Bettesworths. " This will come out in open court; and the 
judge and jury will think a great deal of it." 

"Oh! Mr. Frank, Mr. Frank," cried old Bettesworth, "have 
pity upon us ! Speak in favour of these boys of mine ! Think 
what a disgrace it is to me in my old age, to have my sons 
brought this way to a public trial ! And if they should be trans- 
ported ! Oh ! Mr. Frank, say what you can for them ! You 
were always a good young man, and a good-natured young man." 

Frank was moved by the entreaties and tears of the unhappy 
father ; but his good-nature could not make him consent to say 
what he knew to be false. " Do not call me to speak to their 
characters upon this trial," said he; "I cannot say any thing 
that would serve them : I shall do them more harm than good." 

Still they had hopes his good-nature would, at the last moment, 
prevail over his sense of justice, and they summoned him. 

"Well, sir," said Bettesworths' counsel, "you appear in 
favour of the prisoners. You have known them, I understand, 
from their childhood ; and your own character is such that what- 



ever you say in their favour will doubtless make a weighty im- 
pression upon the jury." 

The court was silent in expectation of what Frank should say. 
He was so much embarrassed betwixt his wish to serve his old 
neighbours and playfellows, and his dread of saying what he 
knew to be false, that he could not utter a syllable. He burst 
into tears 3 . 

" This evidence is most strongly against the prisoners," 
whispered a juryman to his fellows. 

The verdict was brought in at last — Guilty ! — Sentence — 

As the judge was pronouncing this sentence, old Bettesworth 
was carried out of the court : he had dropped senseless. Ill as 
his sons had behaved to him, he could not sustain the sight of 
their utter disgrace and ruin. 

When he recovered his senses, he found himself sitting on the 
stone bench before the court-house, supported by Frank. Many 
of the town's-people had gathered round ; but regardless of every 
thing but his own feelings, the wretched father exclaimed, in a 
voice of despair, " I have no children left me in my old age ! 
My sons are gone ! And where are my daughters? At such a 
time as this, why are not they near their poor old father ? Have 
they no touch of natural affection in them ? No ! they have 
none. And why should they have any for me ? I took no care 
of them when they were young ; no wonder they take none of 
me now I am old. Ay ! Neighbour Fx-ankland was right : he 
brought up his children ' in the way they should go.' Now he 
has the credit and the comfort of them; and see what mine are 
come to ! They bring their father's grey hairs with sorrow to 
the grave !" 

The old man wept bitterly : then looking round him, he again 
asked for his daughters. "Surely they are in the town, and it 
cannot be much trouble to them to come to me ! Even these 
strangers, who have never seen me before, pity me. But my 
own have no feeling ; no, not for one another! Do these girls 
know the sentence that has been passed upon their brothers? 
Where are they ? Where are they ? Jessy, at least, might be 

' 3 This is drawn from real life. 



near me at such a time as this ! I was always an indulgent 
father to Jessy." 

There were people present who knew what was become of 
Jessy ; hut they would not tell the news to her father at this 
terrible moment. Two of Mrs. Cheviott's servants were in the 
crowd ; and one of them whispered to Frank, " You had best, 
sir, prevail on this poor old man to go to his home, and 
not to ask for his daughter : he will hear the bad news soon 

Frank persuaded the father to go home to his lodgings, and 
did every thing in his power to comfort him. But, alas ! the 
old man said, too truly, " There is no happiness left for me in 
this world ! What a curse it is to have bad children ! My 
children have broken my heart ! And it is all my own fault : I 
took no care of them when they were young ; and they take no 
care of me now I am old. But, tell me, have you found out what 
is become of my daughter?" 

Frank evaded the question, and begged the old man to rest in 
peace this night. He seemed quite exhausted by grief, and at 
last sunk into a sort of stupefaction : it could hardly be called 
•sleep. Frank was obliged to return home, to proceed with his 
business for Mr. Barlow ; and he was glad to escape from the 
sight of misery, which, however he might pity, he could not 

It was happy indeed for Frank that he had taken his father's 
advice, and had early broken off all connexion with Jilting 
Jessy. After duping others, she at length had become a greater 
dupe. She had this morning gone off with a common serjeant, 
with whom she had fallen suddenly and desperately in love. 
He cared for nothing but her two thousand pounds ; and, to 
complete her misfortune, was a man of bad character, whose 
extravagance and profligacy had reduced him to the sad alterna- 
tive of either marrying for money, or going to jail. 

As for Sally, she was at this instant far from all thoughts 
either of her father or her brothers ; she was in the heat of a 
scolding match, which terminated rather unfortunately for her 
matrimonial schemes. Ensign Bloomington had reproached her 
with having forced him into his aunt's room, when she had 
absolutely refused to see him, and thus being the cause of his 



losing a handsome legacy. Irritated by this charge, the lady 
replied in no very gentle terms. Words ran high ; and so high 
at last, that the gentleman finished by swearing that he would 
sooner marry the devil than such a vixen ! 

The match was thus broken off, to the great amusement of all 
Saucy Sally's acquaintance. Her ill-humour had made her 
hated by all the neighbours ; so that her disappointment at the 
loss of the ensign was embittered by their malicious raillery, 
and by the prophecy which she heard more than whispered from 
all sides, that she would never have another admirer, either for 
" love or money." 

Ensign Bloomington was deaf to all overtures of peace : he 
was rejoiced to escape from this virago ; and, as we presume 
that none of our readers are much interested in her fate, we 
shall leave her to wear the willow, without following her history 

Let us return to Mr. Barlow, whom we left looking over 
Mr. Folingsby's marriage settlements. When he had seen that 
they were rightly drawn, he sent Frank with them to Folingsby- 

Mr. Folingsby was alone when Frank arrived. " Sit down, if' 
you please, sir," said he. " Though I have never had the 
pleasure of seeing you before, your name is well known to me. 
You are a brother of Fanny Frankland's. She is a charming 
and excellent young woman ! You have reason to be proud of 
your sister, and I have reason to be obliged to her." 

He then adverted to what had formerly passed between them 
at Mrs. Hungerford's ; and concluded by saying it would give 
him real satisfaction to do any service to him or his family. 
"Speak, and tell me what I can do for you." 

Frank looked down, and was silent ; for he thought Mr. Fo- 
lingsby must recollect the injustice that he, or his agent, had 
shown in turning old Frankland out of his farm. He was too 
proud to ask favours, where he felt he had a claim to justice. 

In fact, Mr. Folingsby had, as he said, "left every thing to 
his agent;" and so little did he know either of the affairs of his 
tenants, their persons, or even their names, that he had not at 
this moment the slightest idea that Frank was the son of one of ( 
the oldest and the best of them. He did not know that old 



Frankland had been reduced to take refuge in an almshouse, in 
consequence of his agent's injustice. Surprised by Frank's cold 
silence, he questioned him more closely, and it was with asto- 
nishment and shame that he heard the truth. 

"Good heavens!" cried he, "has my negligence been the 
cause of all this misery to your father — to the father of Fanny 
Frankland ? I remember, now that you recall it to my mind, 
something of an old man, with fine grey hair, coming to speak 
to me about some business, just as I was setting off for Ascot 
races. Was that your father ? I recollect I told him I was in 
a great hurry ; and that Mr. Deal, my agent, would certainly do 
him justice. In this I was grossly mistaken ; and I have 
suffered severely for the confidence I had in that fellow. Thank 
God, I shall now have my affairs in my own hands. I am de- 
termined to look into them immediately. My head is no longer 
full of horses, and gigs, and curricles. There is a time for every 
thing : my giddy days are over. I only wish that my thought- 
lessness had never hurt any one but myself. 

"All I now can do," continued Mr. Folingsby, "is to make 
amends, as fast as possible, for the past. To begin with your 
father : most fortunately, I have the means in my power. His 
farm is come back into my hands ; and it shall, to-morrow, be 
restored to him. Old Bettesworth was with me scarcely an 
hour ago, to surrender the farm, on which there is a prodigious 
arrear of rent ; but I understand that he has built a good house 
on the farm ; and I am extremely glad of it, for your father's sake. 
Tell him it shall be his. Tell him I am ready, I am eager, to 
put him in possession of it ; and to repair the injustice I have 
done, or which, at least, I have permitted to be done, in my 

Frank was so overjoyed that he could scarcely utter one word 
of thanks. In his way home he called at Mrs. Hungerford's, to 
tell the good news to his sister Fanny. This was the eve of 
their father's birthday ; and they agreed to meet at the alms- 
house in the morning. 

The happy morning came. Old Frankland was busy in his 
little garden, when he heard the voices of his children, who were 
coming towards him. " Fanny ! Patty ! James ! Frank ! 
Welcome, my children ! Welcome ! I knew you would be so 


kind as to come to see your old father on this day ; so I was 
picking some of my currants for you, to make you as welcome 
as I can. But I wonder you are not ashamed to come to see 
me in an almshouse. Such gay lads and lasses ! I well know I 
have reason to be proud of you all. Why, I think, I never saw 
you, one and all, look so well in my whole life !" 

" Perhaps, father," said Frank, "because you never saw us, 
one and all, so happy ! Will you sit down, dear father, here in 
your arbour ; and we will all sit upon the grass, at your feet, 
and each tell you stories, and all the good news." 

"My children," said he, "do what you will with me! It 
makes my old heart swim with joy to see you all again around 
me looking so happy." 

The father sat down in his arbour, and his children placed 
themselves at his feet. First his daughter Patty spoke ; and 
then Fanny ; then James ; and at last Frank. When they had 
all told their little histories, they offered to their father in one 
purse their common riches : the rewards of their own good 

" My beloved children!" said Frankland, overpowered with 
his tears, "this is too much joy for me! this is the happiest 
moment of my life! None but the father of such children can 
know what I feel ! Your success in the world delights me ten 
times the more, because I know it is all owing to yourselves." 

"Oh! no, dear father!" cried they with one accord; "no, 
dear, dear father, our success is all owing to you ! Every thing 
we have is owing to you ; to the care you took of us, from our 
infancy upward. If you had not watched for our welfare, and 
taught us so well, we should not now all be so happy ! — Poor 
Bettesworth !" 

Here they were interrupted by Hannah, the faithful maid- 
servant, who had always lived with old Frankland. She came 
running down the garden so fast, that, when she reached the 
arbour, she was so much out of breath she could not speak. 
"Dear heart! God bless you all!" cried she, as soon as she 
recovered breath. " But it is no time to be sitting here. Come 
in, sir, for mercy's sake," said she, addressing herself to her 
old master. " Come in to be ready ; come in all of you to be 
ready !" 



"Ready ! ready for what?" 

" Oh ! ready for fine things ! Fine doings ! Only come in, 
and I'll tell you as we go along. How I have torn all my hand 
with this gooseberry-bush ! But no matter for that. So then 
you have not heard a word of what is going on ? No, how 
could you ? And you did not miss me, when you first came into 
the house ?" 

" Forgive us for that, good Hannah : we were in such a hurry 
to see my father, we thought of nothing and nobody else." 

" Very natural. Well, Miss Fanny, I've been up at the great 
house, with your lady, Mrs. Hungerford. A better lady cannot 
be ! Do you know she sent for me, on purpose to speak to me ; 
and I know things that you are not to know yet. But this much 
I may tell you, there's a carriage coming here, to carry my master 
away to his new house ; and there's horses, and side-saddles 
beside, for you, and you, and you, and I. And Mrs. Hungerford is 
coming in her own coach ; and young Mr. Folingsby is coming 
in his carriage ; and Mr. Barlow in Mr. Jos. Crumpe's carriage ; 
and Mr. Cleghorn, and his pretty daughter, in the gig ; and — 
and — and heaps of carriages besides ! friends of Mrs. Hunger- 
ford : and there's such crowds gathering in the streets ; and 
I'm going on to get breakfast." 

"Oh! my dear father," ci'ied Frank, "make haste, and take 
off this badge-coat before they come ! We have brought proper 
clothes for you." 

Frank pulled off the badge-coat, as he called it, and flung it 
from him, saying, "My father shall never wear you more." 

Fanny had just tied on her father's clean neckcloth, and Patty, 
had smoothed his reverend grey locks, when the sound of the 
carriages was heard. All that Hannah had told them was true. 
Mrs. Hungerford had engaged all her friends, and all who were 
acquainted with the good conduct of the Franklands, to attend 
her on this joyful occasion. 

"Triumphal cavalcades and processions," said she, "are in 
general foolish things — mere gratifications of vanity ; but this is 
not in honour of vanity, but in honour of virtue. We shall dc 
good in the country, by showing that we respect and admire it, 
in whatever station it is to be found. Here is a whole family 
who have conducted themselves uncommonly well ; who have 



exerted themselves to relieve their aged father from a situation 
to which Vie was reduced without any fault or imprudence of his 
own. Their exertions have succeeded. Let us give them, what 
they will value more than money, sympathy." 

Convinced or persuaded by what Mrs. Hungerford said, all 
her friends and acquaintance attended her this morning to the 
almshouse. Crowds of people followed ; and old Frankland was 
carried in triumph by his children to his new habitation. 

The happy father lived many years to enjoy the increasing 
prosperity of his family *. 

May every good father have as grateful children ! 

1 It may be necessary to inform some readers, that Patty and Fanny were 
soon united to their lovers; that James, with Mr. Cleghorn's conscnt 5 
married Miss Cleghorn ; and that Frank did not become an old bachelor r 
he married an amiable girl, who was ten times prettier than Jilting Jessy, 
and of whom he was twenty times as fond. Those who wish to know the 
history of all the wedding-clothes of the parties may have their curiosity 
gratified by directing a line of inquiry, post-paid, to the editor hereof. 

May, 1801. 


In the island of Jamaica there lived two planters, whose methods 
of managing their slaves were as different as possible. Mr. 
JefFeries considered the negroes as an inferior species, incapable 
of gratitude, disposed to treachery, and to be roused from their 
natural indolence only by force ; he treated his slaves, or rather 
suffered his overseer to treat them, with the greatest severity. 

Jefferies was not a man of a cruel, but of a thoughtless and 
extravagant temper. He was of such a sanguine disposition, 
that he always calculated upon having a fine season, and fine 
crops on his plantation ; and never had the prudence to make 
allowance for unfortunate accidents : he required, as he said, 
from his overseer produce and not excuses. 

Durant, the overseer, did not scruple to use the most 1 cruel 
and barbarous methods of forcing the slaves to exertions beyond 
their strength. Complaints of his brutality, from time to time, 
reached his master's ears ; but though Mr. Jefferies was moved 
to momentary compassion, he shut his heart against conviction : 
he hurried away to the jovial banquet, and drowned all painful 
reflections in wine. 

He was this year much in debt ; and, therefore, being more 
than usually anxious about his crop, he pressed his overseer to 
exert himself to the utmost. 

The wretched slaves upon his plantation thought themselves 
still more unfortunate when they compared their condition with 

1 The Negro Slaves— a fine drama, by Kotzcbue. It is to be boped 
tbat such horrible instances of cruelty are not now to be found in nature. 
Bryan Edwards, in his History of Jamaica, says that most of the planters aro 
humane ; but he allows that some facts can be cited in contradiction of this 



that of the negroes on the estate of Mr. Edwards. This gentle- 
man treated his slaves with all possible humanity and kindness. 
He wished that there was no such thing as slavery in the world ; 
but he was convinced, by the arguments of those who have the 
best means of obtaining information, that the sudden emanci- 
pation of the negroes would rather increase than diminish their 
miseries. His benevolence, therefore, confined itself within the 
bounds of reason. He adopted those plans for the amelioration 
of the state of the slaves which appeared to him the most likely 
to succeed without producing any violent agitation or revolution 2 if 
For instance, his negroes had reasonable and fixed daily tasks ; 
and when these were finished, they were permitted to employ 
their time for their own advantage or amusement. If they chose 
to employ themselves longer for their master, they were paid 
regular wages for their extra work. This reward, for as such it 
was considered, operated most powerfully upon the slaves. 
Those who are animated by hope can perform what would seem 
impossibilities to those who are under the depressing influence 
of fear. The wages which Mr. Edwards promised, he took care 
to see punctually paid. 

He had an excellent overseer, of the name of Abraham 
Bayley, a man of a mild but steady temper, who was attached not 
only to his master's interests but to his virtues; and who, there- 
fore, was more intent upon seconding his humane views than 
upon squeezing from the labour of the negroes the utmost 
produce. Each negro had, near his cottage, a portion of land, 
called his provision-ground ; and one day in the week was 
allowed for its cultivation. 

It is common in Jamaica for the slaves to have provision- 
grounds, which they cultivate for their own advantage ; but it 
too often happens, that, when a good negro has successfully 
improved his little spot of ground, when he has built himself a 
house, and begins to enjoy the fruits of his industry, his acquired 
property is seized upon by the sheriff's officer for the payment 
of his master's debts ; he is forcibly separated from his wife and 
children, dragged to public auction, purchased by a stranger, 

2 History of the West Indies, from which these ideas are adopted — not 



and perhaps sent to terminate his miserable existence in the 
mines of Mexico ; excluded for ever from the light of heaven ; 
and all this without any crime or imprudence on his part, real 
or pretended. He is punished because his master is unfor- 
tunate ! 

To this barbarous injustice the negroes on Mr. Edwards' 
plantation were never exposed. He never exceeded his income ; 
he engaged in no wild speculations ; he contracted no debts ; and 
his slaves, therefore, were in no danger of being seized by a 
sheriff's officer : their property was secured to them by the 
prudence as well as by the generosity of their master. 

One morning, as Mr. Edwards was walking in that part of 
his plantation which joined to Mr. Jefferies' estate, he thought 
he heard the voice of distress at some distance. The lamen- 
tations grew louder and louder as he approached a cottage, 
which stood upon the borders of Jefferies' plantation. 

This cottage belonged to a slave of the name of Caesar, the 
best negro in Mr. Jefferies' possession. Such had been his 
industry and exertion, that, notwithstanding the severe tasks 
imposed by Durant, the overseer, Caesar found means to culti- 
vate his provision-ground to a degree of perfection no where else 
to be seen on this estate. Mr. Edwards had often admired this 
poor fellow's industry, and now hastened to inquire what mis- 
fortune had befallen him. 

When he came to the cottage, he found Caesar standing with 
his arms folded, and his eyes fixed upon the ground. " A young 
and beautiful female negro was weeping bitterly, as she knelt at 
the feet of Durant, the overseer, who, regarding her with ^ri 
sullen aspect, repeated, " He must go. I tell you, woman, he 
must go. What signifies all this nonsense?" 

At the sight of Mr. Edwards, the overseer's countenance 
suddenly changed, and assumed an air of obsequious civility. 
The poor woman retired to the farther corner of the cottage, 
and continued to weep. Caesar never moved. "Nothing is tbe 
matter, sir," said Durant, "but that Caesar is going to be sold. 
That is what the woman is crying for. They were to be 
married; but we'll find Clara another husband, I tell her; and 
she'll get the better of her grief, you know, sir, as I tell her, in 

Popular Tales. d d 



"Never! never!" said Clara. 

"To whom is Caesar going to be sold? and for what sum?" 

" For what can be got for him," replied Durant, laughing; 
"and to whoever will buy him. The sheriff's officer is here,, 
who has seized him for debt, and must make the most of him at 

" Poor fellow !" said Mr. Edwards; "and must he leave this 
cottage which he has built, and these bananas which he has 

Caesar now for the first time looked up, and fixing his eyes 
upon Mr. Edwards for a moment, advanced with an intrepid 
rather than an imploring countenance, and said, " Will you be 
my master? Will you be her master? Buy both of us. You 
shall not repent of it. Caesar will serve you faithfully." 

On hearing these words Clara sprang forward, and clasping 
her hands together, repeated, " Caesar will serve you faith- 

Mr. Edwards was moved by their entreaties, but he left them 
without declaring his intentions. He went immediately to Mr. 
JefFeries, whom he found stretched on a sofa, drinking coffee. 
As soon as Mr. Edwards mentioned the occasion of his visit, and 
expressed his sorrow for Caesar, JefFeries exclaimed, " Yes, poor 
devil ! I pity him from the bottom of my soul. But what can I 
do? I leave all those things to Durant. He says the sheriff's 
officer has seized him ; and there's an end of the matter. You 
know, money must be had. Besides, Caesar is not worse off 
than any other slave sold for debt. What signifies talking about 
the matter, as if it were something that never happened before ! 
Is not it a case that occurs every day in Jamaica?" 

" So much the worse," replied Mr. Edwards. 

"The worse for them, to be sure," said JefFeries. "But, 
after all, they are slaves, and are used to be treated as such ; and 
they tell me the negroes are a thousand times happier here, with 
us, than they ever were in their own country." 

"Did the negroes tell you so themselves?" 

"No; but people better informed than negroes have told me 
so ; and, after all, slaves there must be ; for indigo, and rum, 
and sugar, we must have." 

" Granting it to be physically impossible that the world 


should exist without rum, sugar, and indigo, why could they not 
be produced by freemen as well as by slaves? If we hired 
negroes for labourers, instead of purchasing them for slaves, do 
you think they would not work as well as they do now ? Does 
any negro, under the fear of the overseer, work harder than a 
Birmingham journeyman, or a Newcastle collier, who toil for 
themselves and their families?" 

"Of that I don't pretend to judge. Ail I know is, that the 
West India planters would be ruined if they had no slaves; and I 
am a West India planter." 

" So am I ; yet I do not think they are the only people whose 
interests ought to be considered in this business." 

" Their interests, luckily, are protected by the laws of the 
land ; and though they are rich men, and white men, and free- 
men, they have as good a claim to their rights as the poorest 
black slave on any of our plantations." 

" The law, in our case, seems to make the right ; and the very 
reverse ought to be done — the right should make the law." 

" Fortunately for us planters, we need not enter into such nice 
distinctions. You could not, if you would, abolish the trade. 
Slaves would be smuggled into the islands." 

"What! if nobody would buy them? You know that you 
cannot smuggle slaves into England. The instant a slave 
touches English groundhe becomes free. Glorious privilege ! Why 
should it not be extended to all her dominions? If the future 
importation of slaves into these islands were forbidden by law, 
the trade must cease. No man can either sell or possess slaves 
without its being known : they cannot be smuggled like lace or 

" Well, well ! " retorted JefFeries, a little impatiently, " as yet 
the law is on our side. I can do nothing in this business, nor can 

"Yes, we can do something; we can endeavour to make our 
negroes as happy as possible." 

" I leave the management of these people to Durant."/' 
" That is the very thing of which they complain ; forgive 
me for speaking to you with the frankness of an old acquaint- 

" Oh ! you can't oblige me more : I love frankneso of ali 
d d 2 



things ! To tell you the truth, I have heard complaints of 
Durant's severity ; hut I make it a principle to turn a deaf ear to 
them, for I know nothing can be done with these fellows without 
it. You are partial to negroes ; but even you must allow they 
are a race of beings naturally inferior to us. You may in vain 
think of managing a black as you would a white. Do what you 
please for a negro, he will cheat you the first opportunity he 
finds. You know what their maxim is : 1 God gives black men 
what white men forget.' " 

To these common-place desultory observations Mr. Edwards 
made no reply ; but recurred to poor Caesar, and offered to pur- 
chase both him and Clara, at the highest price the sheriff's 
officer could obtain for them at market. Mr. JefFeries, with the 
utmost politeness to his neighbour, but with the most perfect in- 
difference to the happiness of those whom he considered of a 
different species from himself, acceded to this proposal. Nothing 
could be more reasonable, he said ; and he was happy to have 
it in his power to oblige a gentleman for whom he had such a 
high esteem. 

The bargain was quickly concluded with the sheriff s officer ; 
for Mr. Edwards willingly paid several dollars more than the 
market price for the two slaves. When Caesar and Clara heard 
that they were not to be separated, their joy and gratitude were 
expressed with all the ardour and tenderness peculiar to their 
different characters. Clara was an Eboe, Caesar a Koromantyn 
negro : the Eboes are soft, languishing, and timid ; the Koro- 
mantyns are frank, fearless, martial, and heroic. 

Mr. Edwards took his new slaves home with him, desired 
Bayley, his overseer, to mark out a provision-ground for Caesar, 
and to give him a cottage, which happened at this time to be 

"Now, my good friend," said he to Caesar, "you may work 
for yourself, without fear that what you earn may be taken from 
you ; or that you should ever be sold, to pay your master's 
debts. If he does not understand what I am saying," continued 
Mr. Edwards, turning to his overseer, " you will explain it to 

Caesar perfectly understood all that Mr. Edwards said ; but 
his feelings were at this instant so strong that he could not find 



expression for his gratitude : he stood like one stupified ! Kind- 
ness was new to him ; it overpowered his manly heart; and at 
hearing the words "my good friend," the tears gushed from his 
eyes : tears which no torture could have extorted ! Gratitude 
swelled in his bosom ; and he longed to be alone, that he might 
freely yield to his emotions. 

He was glad when the conch-shell sounded to call the 
negroes to their daily labour, that he might relieve the sen- 
sations of his soul by bodily exertion, He performed his task 
in silence ; and an inattentive observer might have thought 
him sullen. 

In fact, he was impatient for the day to be over, that he 
might get rid of a heavy load which weighed upon his mind. 

The cruelties practised by Durant, the overseer of JefFeries' 
plantation, had exasperated the slaves under his dominion. 

They were all leagued together in a conspiracy, which was 
kept profoundly secret. Their object was to extirpate every white 
man, woman, and child, in the island. Their plans were laid 
with consummate art ; and the negroes were urged to execute 
them by all the courage of despair. 

The confederacy extended to all the negroes in the island of 
Jamaica, excepting those on the plantation of Mr. Edwards. To 
them no hint of the dreadful secret had yet been given ; their 
countrymen, knowing the attachment they felt to their master, 
dared not trust them with these projects of vengeance. Hec- 
tor, the negro who was at the head of the conspirators, 
was the particular friend of Csesar, and had imparted to 
him all his designs. These friends were bound to each 
other by the sti-ongest ties. Their slavery and their sufferings 
began in the same hour ; they were both brought from their own 
country in the same ship. This circumstance alone form?, 
amongst the negroes, a bond of connexion not easily to be dis- 
solved. But the friendship of Caesar and Hector commenced 
even before they were united by the sympathy of misfortune ; 
they were both of the same nation, both Koromantyns. In 
Africa they had both been accustomed to command ; for they 
had signalized themselves by superior fortitude and courage. 
They respected each other for excelling in all which they had 



been taught to consider as virtuous; and with them revenge was 
a virtue ! 

Revenge was the ruling passion of Hector : in Caesar's mind 
it was rather a principle instilled by education. The one con- 
sidered it as a duty, the other felt it as a pleasure. Hector's 
sense of injury was acute in the extreme ; he knew not how to for- 
give. Caesar's sensibility was yet more alive to kindness than to 
insult. Hector would sacrifice his life to extirpate an enemy. 
Caesar would devote himself for the defence of a friend ; and 
Caesar now considered a white man as his friend. 

He was now placed in a painful situation. All his former 
friendships, all the solemn promises by which he was bound to 
his companions in misfortune, forbade him to indulge that 
delightful feeling of gratitude and affection, which, for the first 
time, he experienced for one of that race of beings whom he had 
hitherto considered as detestable tyrants — objects of implacable 
and just revenge ! 

Caesar was most impatient to have an interview with Hector, 
that he might communicate his new sentiments, and dissuade 
him from those schemes of destruction which he meditated. 
At midnight, when all the slaves except himself were asleep, he 
left his cottage, and went to JefFeries' plantation, to the hut in 
which Hector slept. Even in his dreams Hector breathed venge- 
ance. " Spare none ! Sons of Africa, spare none ! " were the 
words he uttered in his sleep, as Caesar approached the mat on 
which he lay. The moon shone full upon him. Caesar con- 
templated the countenance of his friend, fierce even in sleep. 
" Spare none ! Oh, yes ! There is one that must be spared. 
There is one for whose sake all must be spared." 

He wakened Hector by this exclamation. " Of what were 
you di-eaming?" said Caesar. 

" Of that which, sleeping or waking, fills my soul — revenge ! 
Why did you waken me from my dream? It was delightful. 
The whites were weltering in their blood ! But silence ! we may 
be overheard." 

"No; every one sleeps but ourselves," replied Caesar. "I 
could not sleep without speaking to you on — a subject that 
weighs upon my mind. You have seen Mr. Edwards ?" 



*' Yes. He that is now your master." 

' He that is now my benefactor — my friend !" 

"Friend! Can you call a white man friend?" cried Hector, 
starting up with a look of astonishment and indignation. 

" Yes," replied Caesar, with firmness. " And you would speak, 
ay, and would feel, as I do, Hector, if you knew this white man. 
Oh, how unlike he is to all of his race, that we have ever seen ! 
Do not turn from me with so much disdain. Hear me with 
patience, my friend." 

" I cannot," replied Hector, " listen with patience to one who 
between the rising and the setting sun can forget all his resolu- 
tions, all his promises ; who by a few soft words can be so 
wrought upon as to forget all the insults, all the injuries he has 
received from this accursed race ; and can even call a white 
man friend !" 

Caesar, unmoved by Hector's anger, continued to speak of Mr. 
Edwards with the warmest expressions of gratitude ; and finished 
by declaring he would sooner forfeit his life than rebel against 
such a master. He conjured Hector to desist from executing his 
designs ; but all was in vain. Hector sat with his elbows fixed 
upon his knees, leaning his head upon his hands, in gloomy silence. 

Caesar's mind was divided between love for his friend and 
gratitude to his master : the conflict was violent and painful. 
Gratitude at last prevailed : he repeated his declaration, that be 
would rather die than continue in a conspiracy against his 
benefactor ! 

Hector refused to except him from the general doom. " Be- 
tray us if you will!" cried he. "Betray our secrets to him 
whom you call your benefactor ! to him whom a few hours have 
made your friend ! To him sacrifice the friend of your youth, 
the companion of your better days, of your better self! Yes, 
Caesar, deliver me over to the tormentors : I can endure more 
than they can inflict. I shall expire without a sigh, without a 
groan. Why do you linger here, Caesar? Why do you hesitate? 
Hasten this moment to your master; claim your reward for 
delivering into his power hundreds of your countrymen ! Why 
do you hesitate ? Away ! The coward's friendship can be of 
use to none. Who can value his gratitude ? Who can fear hk 
revenge Y* 



Hector raised his voice so high, as he pronounced these words, 
that he wakened Durant, the overseer, who slept in the next house. 
They heard him call out suddenly, to inquire who was there : 
and Caesar had but just time to make his escape, before Durant 
appeared. He searched Hector's cottage ; but finding no one, 
again retired to rest. This man's tyranny made him constantly 
suspicious; he dreaded that the slaves should combine against 
him ; and he endeavoured to prevent them, by every threat and 
every stratagem he could devise, from conversing with each other. 

They had, however, taken their measures, hitherto, so secretly, 
that he had not the slightest idea of the conspiracy which wa3 
forming in the island. Their schemes were not yet ripe for 
execution ; but the appointed time approached. Hector, when 
he coolly reflected on what had passed between him and Caesar, 
could not help admiring the frankness and courage with which 
he had avowed his change of sentiments. By this avowal, Caesar 
had in fact exposed his own life to the most imminent danger, 
from the vengeance of the conspirators, who might be tempted to 
assassinate him who had their lives in his power. Notwithstand- 
ing the contempt with which, in the first moment of passion, he had 
treated his friend, he was extremely anxious that he should net 
break off all connexion with the conspirators. He knew that 
Caesar possessed both intrepidity and eloquence, and that his 
opposition to their schemes would perhaps entirely frustrate their 
whole design. He therefore determined to use every possible 
means to bend him to their purposes. 

He resolved to have recourse to one of those persons 3 who, 

3 The enlightened inhabitants of Europe may, perhaps, smile at the 
superstitious credulity of the negroes, who regard those ignorant beings 
called Obeah people with the most profound respect and dread ; who believe 
that they hold in their hands the power of good and evil fortune, of health 
and sickness, of life and death. The instances which are related of their 
power over the minds of their countrymen are so wonderful, that none but 
the most unquestionable authority could make us think them credible. 
The following passage, from Edwards' History of the West Indies, is 
inserted, to give an idea of this strange infatuation : 

" In the year 1760, when a very formidable insurrection of the Koro- 
mantyn or Gold Coast negroes broke out, in the parish of St. Mary, and 
»pread through almost every other district of the island, an old Koro- 
iiiantyn negro, the chief instigator and oracle of the insurgents in thai 



amongst the negroes, are considered as sorceresses. Esther, an 
old Koromantyn negress, had obtained by her skill in poisonous 

parish, who had administered the fetish, or solemn oath, to the conspirators, 
and furnished them with a magical preparation, which was to render them 
invulnerable, was fortunately apprehended, convicted, and hung up with all 
his feathers and trumperies about him ; and his execution struck the insur- 
gents with a general panic, from which they never afterwards recovered. 
The examinations, which were taken at that period, first opened the eyes of 
the public to the very dangerous tendency of the Obeah practices ; and gave 
birth to the law, which was then enacted, for their suppression and punish- 
ment ; but neither the terror of this law, the strict investigation which has- 
since been made after the professors of Obi, nor the many examples of those 
who, from time to time, have been hanged or transported, have hitherto pro- 
duced the desired effect. A gentleman, on his returning to Jamaica, in the 
year 1775, found that a great many of his negroes had died during his 
absence ; and that, of such as remained alive, at least one half were debili- 
tated, bloated, and in a very deplorable condition. The mortality continued 
after his arrival ; and two or three were frequently buried in one day ; 
others were taken ill, and began to decline under the same symptoms. 
Every means were tried, by medicine and the most careful nursing, to pre- 
serve the lives of the feeblest ; but in spite of all his endeavoars, this depo- 
pulation went on for a twelvemonth longer, with more or less intermission, 
and without his being able to ascertain the real cause, though the Obeah 
practice was strongly suspected, as well by himself as by the doctor, and 
other white persons upon the plantation ; as it was known to have been very 
common in that part of the island, and particularly among the negroes of 
the Popaiv or Popo country. Still he was unable to verify his suspicions ; 
because the patients constantly denied their having any thing to do with 
persons of that order, or any knowledge of them. At length, a negress, who 
had been ill for some time, came and informed him, that, feeling it was im- 
possible for her to live much longer, she thought herself bound in duty, 
before she died, to impart a very great secret, and acquaint him with the 
true cause of her disorder, in hopes that the disclosure might prove the 
means of stopping that mischief which had already swept away such a num- 
ber of her fellow slaves. She proceeded to say that her step-mother, a 
woman of the Popo country, above eighty years old, but still hale and 
active, had put Obi upon her, as she had upon those who had lately died ; and 
that the old woman had practised Obi for as many years past as she could 
remember. The other negroes of the plantation no sooner heard of this im- 
peachment than they ran in a body to their master, and confirmed the truth 
of it. * * * * Upon this he repaired directly, with six white servants, to 
the old woman's house ; and, forcing open the door, observed the whole 
inside of the roof, which was of thatch, and every crevice of the wall, stuck 
with the implements of her trade, consisting of rags, feathers, bones of cats, 



herbs, and her knowledge of venomous reptiles, a high repu- 
tation amongst her countrymen. She soon taught them to 
believe her to he possessed of supernatural powers ; and she 
then worked their imagination to what pitch and purpose she 

She was the chief instigator of this intended rebellion. It was 
she who had stimulated the revengeful temper of Hector almost 
to frenzy. She now promised him that her arts should be 
exerted over his friend ; and it was not long before he felt 
their influence. Caesar soon perceived an extraordinary change 
in the countenance and manner of his beloved Clara. A melan- 
choly hung over her, and she refused to impart to him the cause 
of her dejection. Cassar was indefatigable in his exertions to 
cultivate and embellish the ground near his cottage, in hopes of 
making it an agreeable habitation for her ; but she seemed to 
take no interest in any thing. She would stand beside him im- 
moveable, in a deep reverie ; but when he inquired whether she 
was ill, she would answer no, and endeavour to assume an air of 
gaiety: but this cheerfulness was transient; she soon relapsed 
into despondency. At length, she endeavoured to avoid her 
lover, as if she feared his farther inquiries. 

Unable to endure this state of suspense, he one evening 
resolved to bring her to an explanation. " Clara," said he, 
4< you once loved me : I have done nothing, have I, to forfeit 
your confidence ?" 

" I once loved you!" said she, raising her languid eyes, and 
looking at him with reproachful tenderness ; " and can you 
doubt my constancy? Oh, Cassar, you little know what is pass- 
ing in my heart! You are the cause of my melancholy!" 

She paused and hesitated, as if afraid that she had said too 
much ; but Caesar urged her with so much vehemence, and so 

and a thousand other articles. * * * * The house was instantly pulled 
down ; and, with the whole of its contents, committed to the flames, amidst 
the general acclamations of all his other negroes. * * * * From tlie mo- 
ment of her departure, his negroes seemed all to be animated with new 
spirits ; and the malady spread no farther among them. The total of his 
iosses, in the course of about fifteen years preceding the discovery, and 
imputable solely to the practice, he estimates at least, at one hundred 



much tenderness, to open to him her whole soul, that, at last, 
she could not resist his eloquence. She reluctantly revealed to 
him that secret of which she could not think without horror. 
She informed him, that unless he complied with what was 
required of him by the sorceress Esther, he was devoted to die. 
What it was that Esther required of him, Clara knew not : she 
knew nothing of the conspiracy. The timidity of her character 
was ill suited to such a project ; and every thing relating to it 
had been concealed from her with the utmost care. 

When she explained to Caesar the cause of her dejection, his 
natural courage resisted these superstitious fears ; and he 
endeavoured to raise Clara's spirits. He endeavoured in vain : 
she fell at his feet ; and with tears, and the most tender suppli- 
cations, conjured him to avert the wrath of the sorceress, by 
obeying her commands, whatever they might be ! 

" Clara," replied he, " you know not what you ask !" 

" I ask you to save your life !" said she. " I ask you, for my 
sake, to save your life, while yet it is in your power !" 

" But would you, to save my life, Clara, make me the worst 
of criminals ? Would you make me the murderer of my bene- 

Clara started with horror. 

" Do you recollect the day, the moment, when we were on the 
point of being separated for ever, Clara ? Do you remember the 
white man's coming to my cottage 1 Do you remember his look 
of benevolence — his voice of compassion ? Do you remember 
his generosity ? Oh ! Clara, would you make me the murderer 
of this man ?" 

" Heaven forbid !" said Clara. "This cannot be the will of 
the sorceress !" 

" It is," said Csesar. " But she shall not succeed, even though 
she speaks with the voice of Clara. Urge me no further ; my 
resolution is fixed. I should be unworthy of your love if I were 
capable of treachery and ingratitude." 

"But is there no means of averting the wrath of Esther?" 
said Clara. " Your life " 

"Think, first, of my honour," interrupted Caesai'. "Your 
fears deprive you of reason. Return to this sorceress, and tell 
-her that I dread not her wrath. My hands shall never be 



imbrued in the blood of my benefactor. Clara ! can you forget 
his look when he told us that we should never more be se- 

"It went to my heart," said Clara, bursting into tears 
" Cruel, cruel Esther ! Why do you command us to destroy 
such a generous master?" 

The conch sounded to summon the negroes to their morning's 
work. It happened this day, that Mr. Edwards, who was 
continually intent upon increasing the comforts and happiness of 
his slaves, sent his carpenter, while Caesar was absent, to fit up 
the inside of his cottage; and when Caesar returned from work, 
he found his master pruning the branches of a tamarind tree that 
over-hung the thatch. " How comes it, Ccesar," said he, " that 
you have not pruned these branches ?" 

Caesar had no knife. "Here is mine for you," said Mr. 
Edwards. "It is very sharp," added he, smiling; " but I am 
not one of those masters who are afraid to trust their negroes 
with sharp knives." 

These words were spoken with perfect simplicity : Mr. 
Edwards had no suspicion, at this time, of what was passing 
in the negro's mind. Caesar received the knife without uttering 
a syllable; but no sooner was Mr. Edwards out of sight than he 
knelt down, and, in a transport of gratitude, swore that, with 
this knife, he would stab himself to the heart sooner than betray 
his master ! 

The principle of gratitude conquered every other sensation. 
The mind of Caesar was not insensible to the charms of freedom : 
he knew the negro conspirators had so taken their measures 
that there was the greatest probability of their success. His 
heart beat high at the idea of recovering his liberty : but he was 
not to be seduced from his duty, not even by this delightful hope ; 
nor was he to be intimidated by the dreadful certainty that his 
former friends and countrymen, considering him as a deserter 
from their cause, would become his bitterest enemies. The loss 
of Hector's esteem and affection was deeply felt by Caesar. 
Since the night that the decisive conversation relative to Mr. 
Edwards passed, Hector and he had never exchanged a syllable. 

This visit proved the cause of much suffering to Hector, and 
to several of the slaves on Jefferies' plantation. We mentioned 



that Durant had been awakened by the raised voice of Hector. 
Though he could not find any one in the cottage, yet his 
suspicions were not dissipated ; and an accident nearly brought 
the whole conspiracy to light. Durant had ordered one of the 
negroes to watch a boiler of sugar : the slave was overcome by 
the heat, and fainted. He had scarcely recovered his senses 
when the overseer came up, and found that the sugar had 
fermented, by having remained a few minutes too long in the 
boiler. He flew into a violent passion, and ordered that the 
negro should receive fifty lashes. His victim bore them without 
uttering a groan ; but, when his punishment was over, and when 
he thought the overseer was gone, he exclaimed, " It will soon 
be our turn !" 

Durant was not out of hearing. He turned suddenly, and 
observed that the negro looked at Hector when he pronounced 
these words, and this confirmed the suspicion that Hector was 
carrying on some"" conspiracy. He immediately had recourse to 
that brutality which he considered as the only means of govern- 
ing black men : Hector and three other negroes were lashed 
unmercifully ; but no confessions could be extorted. 

Mr. JefFeries might perhaps have forbidden such violence to 
be used, if he had not been at the time carousing with a party of 
jovial West Indians, who thought of nothing but indulging their 
appetites in all the luxuries that art and nature could supply. 
The sufferings which had been endured by many of the wretched 
negroes to furnish out this magnificent entertainment were never 
once thought of by these selfish epicures. Yet so false are the 
general estimates of character, that all these gentlemen passed 
for men of great feeling and generosity ! The human mind, 
in certain situations, becomes so accustomed to ideas of tyrannv 
and cruelty, that they no longer appear extraordinary or 
detestable : thay rather seem part of the necessary and im- 
mutable order of things. 

Mr. JefFeries was stopped, as he passed from his dining-room 
into his drawing-room, by a little negro child, of about five years 
old, who was crying bitterly. He was the son of one of the 
slaves who were at this moment under the torturer's hand. 
" Poor little devil!" said Mr. JefFeries, who was more than half 



intoxicated. " Take him away ; and tell Durant, some of ye, to 
pardon his father — if he can." 

The child ran, eagerly, to announce his father's pardon ; but 
he soon returned, crying more violently than before. Durant 
would not hear the boy ; and it was now no longer possible to 
appeal to Mr JefFeries, for he was in the midst of an assembly 
of fair ladies, and no servant belonging to the house dared to 
interrupt the festivities of the evening. The three men, who 
were so severely flogged to extort from them confessions, were 
perfectly innocent : they knew nothing of the confederacy ; but 
the rebels seized the moment when their minds were exasperated 
by this cruelty and injustice, and they easily persuaded them to 
join the league. The hope of revenging themselves upon the 
overseer was a motive sufficient to make them brave death in 
any shape. 

Another incident, which happened a few days before the time 
destined for the revolt of the slaves, determined numbers who 
had been undecided. Mrs. JefFeries was a languid beauty, or 
rather a languid fine lady who had been a beauty, and who 
spent all that part of the day which was not devoted to the 
pleasures of the table, or to reclining on a couch, in dress. 
She was one day extended on a sofa, fanned by four slaves, 
two at her head and two at her feet, when news was brought 
that a large chest, directed to her, was just arrived from 

This chest contained various articles of dress of the newest 
fashions. The Jamaica ladies carry their ideas of magnificence 
to a high pitch : they willingly give a hundred guineas for a 
gown, which they perhaps wear but once or twice. In the 
elegance and variety of her ornaments, Mrs. JefFeries was not 
exceeded by any lady in the island, except by one who had 
lately received a cargo from England. She now expected to 
outshine her competitor, and desired that the chest should be 
unpacked in her presence. 

In taking out one of the gowns, it caught on a nail in the lid, 
and was torn. The lady, roused from her natural indolence by 
this disappointment to her vanity, instantly ordered that the 
unfortunate female slave should be severely chastised. The 



voman was the wife of Hector; and this fresh injury worked up 
his temper, naturally vindictive, to the highest point. He 
ardently longed for the moment when he might satiate his 

The plan the negroes had laid was to set fire to the canes, at 
one and the same time, on every plantation ; and when the white 
inhabitants of the island should run to put out the fire, the 
blacks were to seize this moment of confusion and consternation 
to fall upon them, and make a general massacre. The time 
when this scheme was to be cai'ried into execution was not 
known to Csesar ; for the conspirators had changed their Jay, as 
soon as Hector told them that his friend was no longer one of 
the confederacy. They dreaded he should betray them ; and it 
was determined that he and Clara should both be destroyed, 
unless they could be prevailed upon to join the conspiracy. 

Hector wished to save his friend, but the desire of vengeance 
overcame every other feeling. He resolved, however, to make 
an attempt, for the last time, to change Caesar's resolution. 

For this purpose, Esther was the person he employed : she 
•was to work upon his mind by means of Clara. On return- 
ing to her cottage one night, she found suspended from the 
thatch one of those strange fantastic charms with which the 
Indian sorceresses terrify those whom they have proscribed. 
Clara, unable to conquer her terror, repaired again to Esther, 
who received her first in mysterious silence ; but, after she had 
implored her forgiveness for the past, and with all possible 
humility conjured her to grant her future protection, the sor- 
ceress deigned to speak. Her commands were that Clara 
should prevail upon her lover to meet her, on this awful spot, 
the ensuing night. 

Little suspecting what was going forward on the plantation of 
.Tefferies, Mr. Edwards that evening gave his slaves a holiday. 
He and his family came out at sunset, when the fresh breeze had 
sprung up, and seated themselves under a spreading palm-tree, 
to enjoy the pleasing spectacle of this negro festival. His negroes 
were all well clad, and in the gayest colours, and their merry 
countenances suited the gaiety of their dress. While some were 
dancing, and some playing on the tambourine, others appeared 
amongs 4- the distant trees, bringing baskets of avocado pears. 



grapes, and pine-apples, the produce of their own provision- 
grounds ; and others were employed in spreading their clean 
trenchers, or the calahashes, which served for plates and dishes. 
The negroes continued to dance and divert themselves till late in 
the evening. When they separated and retired to rest, Csesar, 
recollecting his promise to Clara, repaired secretly to the habi- 
tation of this sorceress. It was situated in the recess of a thick 
wood. When he arrived there, he found the door fastened ; and 
he was obliged to wait some time before it was opened by 

The first object he beheld was his beloved Clara, stretched on 
the ground, apparently a corpse ! The sorceress had thrown 
her into a trance by a preparation of deadly nightshade. The 
hag burst into an infernal laugh, when she beheld the despair 
that was painted in Caesar's countenance. "Wretch!" cried 
she, " you have defied my power : behold its victim !" 

Caesar, in a transport of rage, seized her by the throat : but 
his fury was soon checked. 

"Destroy me," said the fiend, "and you destroy your Clara. 
She is not dead : but she lies in the sleep of death, into which 
•she has been thrown by magic art, and from which no power but 
mine can restore her to the light of life. Yes ! look at her, pale 
and motionless ! Never will she rise from the earth, unless, 
within one hour, you obey my commands. I have administered 
to Hector and his companions the solemn fetish oath, at the 
sound of which every negro in Africa trembles ! You know my 

"Fiend, I do!" replied Caesar, eyeing her sternly; "but, 
while I have life, it shall never be accomplished." 

" Look yonder ! " cried she, pointing to the moon ; " in a few 
minutes that moon will set : at that hour Hector and his friends 
will appear. They come armed — armed with weapons which I 
shall steep in poison for their enemies. Themselves I will render 
invulnerable. Look again !" continued she ; "if my dim eyes 
mistake not, yonder they come. Rash man, you die if they cross 
my threshold." 

" I wish for death," said Caesar. " Clara is dead !" 

" But you can restore her to life by a single word." 

Caesar, at this moment, seemed to hesitate. 



" Consider! Your heroism is vain," continued Esther. " You 
will have the knives of fifty of the conspirators in your bosom, 
if you do not join them ; and, after you have fallen, the death of 
your master is inevitable. Here is the bowl of poison, in which 
the negro knives are to be steeped. Your friends, your former 
friends, your countrymen, will be in arms in a few minutes ; 
and they will bear down every thing before them — Victory, 
Wealth, Freedom, and Revenge, will be theirs." 

Caesar appeared to be more and more agitated. His eyes were 
fixed upon Clara. The conflict in his mind was violent : but his 
sense of gratitude and duty could not be shaken by hope, fear, or 
ambition ; nor could it be vanquished by love. He determined, 
however, to appear to yield. As if struck with panic, at the 
approach of the confederate negroes, he suddenly turned to the 
sorceress, and said, in a tone of feigned submission, " It is in vain 
to struggle with fate. Let my knife, too, be dipped in your magic 

The sorceress clapped her hands with infernal joy in her coun- 
tenance. She bade him instantly give her his knife, that she 
might plunge it to the hilt in the bowl of poison, to which she 
turned with savage impatience. His knife was left in his cottage, 
and, under pretence of going in search of it, he escaped. Esther 
promised to prepare Hector and all his companions to receive him 
with their ancient cordiality on his return. Caesar ran with the 
utmost speed along a bye-path out of the wood, met none of the 
rebels, reached his master's house, scaled the wall of his bed- 
chamber, got in at the window, and wakened him, exclaiming, 
" Arm — arm yourself, my dear master ! Arm all your slaves ! 
They will fight for you, and die for you; as I will the first. 
The Koromantyn yell of war will be heard in Jefferies planta- 
tion this night! Arm — arm yourself, my dear master, and 
let us surround the rebel leaders while it is yet time. I will 
lead you to the place where they are all assembled, on condition 
that their chief, who is my friend, shall be pardoned." 

Mr. Edwards armed himself and the negroes on his planta- 
tion, as well as the whites ; they were all equally attached to 
him. He followed Caesar into the recesses of the wood. 

They proceeded with all possible rapidity, but in perfect 
silence, till they reached Esther's habitation : which they 

Popular Tales. e e 


surrounded completely, before they were perceived by the con- 

Mr. Edwards looked through a hole in the wall ; and, by the 
blue flame of a cauldron, over which the sorceress was stretching 
her shrivelled hands, he saw Hector and five stout negroes 
standing, intent upon her incantations. These negroes held 
their knives in their hands, ready to dip them into the bowl of 
poison. It was proposed, by one of the whites, to set fire imme- 
diately to the hut, and thus to force the rebels to surrender. 
The advice was followed; but Mr. Edwards charged his 
people to spare their prisoners. The moment the rebels saw 
that the thatch of the hut was in flames, they set up the 
Koromantyn yell of war, and rushed out with frantic despe- 

" Yield! You are pardoned, Hector," cried Mr. Edwards, in 
a loud voice. 

" You are pardoned, my friend !" repeated Caesar. 

Hector, incapable at this instant of listening to anything but 
revenge, sprang forwards, and plunged his knife into the bosom 
of Caesar. The faithful servant staggered back a few paces : his 
master caught him in his arms. "I die content," said he. 
"Bury me with Clara." 

He swooned from loss of blood as they were carrying him 
home ; but when his wound was examined, it was found not to 
be mortal. As he recovered from his swoon, he stared wildly 
round him, trying to recollect where he was, and what had 
happened. He thought that he was still in a dream, when he 
saw his beloved Clara standing beside him. The opiate, which 
the pretended sorceress had administered to her, had ceased to 
operate ; she wakened from her trance just at the time the Koro- 
mantyn yell commenced. Caesar's joy ! — we must leave that to 
the imagination. 

In the mean time, what became of the rebel negroes, and Mr. 
Edwards ? 

The taking the chief conspirators prisoners did not prevent 
the negroes upon JefFeries' plantation from insurrection. The 
moment they heard the war-whoop, the signal agreed upon, they 
rose in a body ; and, before they could be prevented, either by 
the whites on the estate, or by Mr. Edwards' adherents, they 



had set fire to the overseer's house, and to the canes. The 
overseer was the principal object of their vengeance — he died in 
tortures, inflicted by the hands of those who had suffered most 
by his cruelties. Mr. Edwards, however, quelled the insurgents 
before rebellion spread to any other estates in the island. The 
influence of his character, and the effect of his eloquence upon 
the minds of the people, were astonishing : nothing but his in- 
terference could have prevented the total destruction of Mr. 
Jefferies and his family, who, as it was computed, lost this night 
upwards of fifty thousand pounds. He was never afterwards 
able to recover his losses, or to shake off his constant fear of a 
fresh insurrection among his slaves. At length, he and his lady 
returned to England, where they were obliged to live in obscu- 
rity and indigence. They had no consolation in their misfor- 
tunes but that of railing at the treachery of the whole race of 
slaves. Our readers, we hope, will think that at least one 
exception may be made, in favour of the ***ATwr negro. 

March. 1802. 


" Oh this detestable To-morrow I — a thing always expected, yet nevei 
found." — Johnson. 


It has long been my intention to write my own history, and I 
am determined to begin it to-day ; for half the good intentions of 
my life have been frustrated by my unfortunate habit of putting 
things off till to-morrow. 

When I was a young man, I used to be told that this was my 
only fault ; I believed it, and my vanity or laziness persuaded 
me that this fault was but small, and that I should easily cure 
myself of it in time. 

That time, however, has not yet arrived, and at my advanced 
age I must give up all thoughts of amendment, hoping, however, 
that sincere repentance may stand instead of reformation. 

My father was an eminent London bookseller : he happened 
to be looking over a new biographical dictionary on the day 
when I was brought into the world ; and at the moment when 
my birth was announced to him, he had his finger upon the 
name Basil; he read aloud — " Basil, canonized bishop of Cse- 
sarea, a theological, controversial, and moral writer." 

"My boy," continued my father, "shall be named after this 
great man, and I hope and believe that I shall live to see him 
either a celebrated theological, controversial, and moral author, 
or a bishop. I am not so sanguine as to expect that he should 
be both these good things." 

I was christened Basil according to my father's wishes, and 
his hopes of my future celebrity and fortune were confirmed, 
■during my childhood, by instances of wit and memory, which 



were not perhap3 greater than what could have been found in 
my little contemporaries, but which appeared to the vanity of 
parental fondness extraordinary, if not supernatural. My father 
declared that it would be a sin not to give me a learned educa- 
tion, and he went even beyond his means to procure for me all 
the advantages of the best modes of instruction. I was stimu- 
lated, even when a boy, by the idea that I should become a 
great man, and my masters had for some time reason to be 
satisfied ; but what they called the quickness of my parts con- 
tinually retarded my progress. The facility with which I learned 
my lessons encouraged me to put off learning them till the last 
moment ; and this habit of procrastinating, which was begun in 
presumption, ended in disgrace. 

When I was sent to a public school, I found among my com- 
panions so many temptations to idleness, that notwithstanding 
the quickness of my parts, I was generally flogged twice a week. 
As I grew older, my reason might perhaps have taught me to 
correct myself, but my vanity was excited to persist in idleness 
by certain imprudent sayings or whisperings of my father. 

When I came home from school at the holidays, and when 
complaints were preferred against me in letters from my school- 
master, my father, even while he affected to scold me for my 
negligence, flattered me in the most dangerous manner by adding 
— aside to some friend of the family — " My Basil is a strange 
fellow ! — can do any thing he pleases — all his masters say so — but 
he is a sad idle dog — all your men of genius are so — puts off busi- 
ness always to the last moment — all your men of genius do so. For 

instance, there is , whose third edition of odes I have just 

published — what an idle dog he is ! Yet who makes such a noise 
in the world as he does? — put every thing off till to-morrow, like 
my Basil — but can do more at the last moment than any man in 
England — that is, if the fit seizes him — for he does nothing but by 
fits — has no application — none — says it would * petrify him to a 
dunce.' I never knew a man of genius who was not an idle 

Not a syllable of such speeches was lost upon me : the idea 
of a man of genius and of an idle dog were soon so firmly joined 
together in my imagination, that it was impossible to separate 
them, either by my own reason or by that of my preceptors. I 



gloried in the very habits which my tutors laboured to correct ; 
and I never was seriously mortified by the consequences of my 
own folly till, at a public examination at Eton, I lost a premium 
by putting off till it was too late the finishing a copy of verses. 
The lines which I had written were said by all my young and 
old friends to be beautiful. The prize was gained by one John- 
son, a heavy lad, of no sort of genius, but of great perseverance. 
His verses were finished, however, at the stated time. 

" For dulness ever must be regular I" 

My fragment, charming as it was, was useless, except to hand 
about afterward among my friends, to prove what I might have 
done if I had thought it worth while. 

My father was extremely vexed by my missing an opportunity 
of distinguishing myself at this public exhibition, especially as 
the king had honoured the assembly with his presence ; and as 
those who had gained premiums were presented to his majesty, 
it was supposed that their being thus early marked as lads of 
talents would be highly advantageous to their advancement in life. 
All this my father felt, and, blaming himself for having encouraged 
me in the indolence of genius, he determined to counteract his 
former imprudence, and was resolved, he said, to cure me at once of 
my habit of procrastination. For this purpose he took down from 
his shelves Young's Night Thoughts ; from which he remembered 
a line, which has become a stock line among writing-masters' 
copies : 

" Procrastination is the thief of time." 

He hunted the book for the words Procrastination, Time, To- 
day, and To-morrow, and made an extract of seven long pages 
on the dangers of delay. 

" Now, my dear Basil," said he, " this is what will cure you for 
life, and this you must get perfectly by heart, before I give you 
one shilling more pocket-money." 

The motive was all powerful, and with pains, iteration, and 
curses, I fixed the heterogeneous quotations so well in my 
memory that some of them have remained there to this day. 
For instance — 

" Time destroyed 
Is suicide, where more than blood is spilt. 



Time flics, death urges, knells call, Heav'n invites, 
Hell threatens. 

We push Time from us, and we wish him hack. 

Man flies from Time, and Time from man too soon ; 
In sad divorce this double flight must end ; 
And then where are we? 

Be wise to-day, 'tis madness to defer, &c. 
Next day the fatal precedent will plead, &c. 

Lorenzo — O for yesterdays to come ! 
To-day is yesterday return 1 d ; return'd, 
Full powered to cancel, expiate, raise, adorn, 
And reinstate us on the rock of peace. 
Let it not share its predecessor's fate, 
Nor, like its elder sisters, die a fool. 

Where shall I find him ? Angels ! tell me where : 
You know him ; he is near you ; point him out ; 
Shall I see glories heaming from his brow ? 
Or trace his footsteps by the rising flow'rs ? 
Your golden wings now hov'ring o'er him shed 
Protection : now are wav'ring in applause 
To that blest son of foresight ! Lord of fate ! 
That awful independent on to-morrow! 
Whose work is done ; who triumphs in the past 
Whose yesterdays look backward with a smile. 

I spare you the rest of my task, and I earnestly hope, my dear 
reader, that these citations may have a better effect upon you 
than they had upon me. With shame l confess, that even with 
the addition of Shakspeare's eloquent 

" To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow," &c. 

which I learnt by heart gratis, not a bit the better was I for 
all this poetical morality. What I wanted was, not conviction 
of my folly, but resolution to amend. 

When I say that I was not a bit the better for these document- 
ings, I must not omit to observe to you that I was very near 
four hundred pounds a year the better for them. 

Being obliged to learn so much of Young's Night Thoughts 
by rote, I was rather disgusted, and my attention was roused to 
criticise the lines which had been forced upon my admiration. 
Afterward, when I went to college, I delighted to maintain, in 



opposition to some of my companions, who were enthusiastic 
admirers of Young, that he was no poet. The more I was ridi- 
culed, the move I persisted. I talked myself into notice ; I became 
acquainted with several of the literary men at Cambridge ; I 
wrote in defence of my opinion, or, as some called it, my heresy. 
I maintained that what all the world had mistaken for sublimity 
was bombast ; that the Night Thoughts were fuller of witty 
conceits than of poetical images : I drew a parallel between 
Young and Cowley ; and I finished by pronouncing Young to be 
the Cowley of the eighteenth century. To do myself justice, there 
was much ingenuity and some truth in my essay, but it was the 
declamation of a partisan, who can think only on one side of a 
question, and who, in the heat of controversy, says more than he 
thinks, and more than he originally intended. 

It is often the fortune of literary partisans to obtain a share of 
temporary celebrity far beyond their deserts, especially if they 
attack any writer of established reputation. The success of my 
essay exceeded my most sanguine expectations, and I began to 
think that my father was right ; that I was born to be a great 
genius, and a great man. The notice taken of me by a learned 
prelate, who piqued himself upon being considered as the patron 
of young men of talents, confirmed me at once in my self-conceit 
and my hopes of preferment. 

I mentioned to you that my father, in honour of my namesake 
Basil, bishop of Caesarea, and to verify his own presentiments, 
had educated me for the Church. My present patron, who seemed 
to like me the better the oftenerl dined with him, gave me rea- 
son to hope that he would provide for me handsomely. I was not 
yet ordained, when a living of four hundred per annum fell into 
his gift : he held it over for some months, as it was thought, on 
purpose for me. 

In the mean time he employed me to write a charity sermon 
for him, which he was to preach, as it was expected, to a crowded 
congregation. None but those who are themselves slaves to the 
habit of procrastination will believe that I could be so foolish as 
to put off writing this sermon till the Saturday evening before it 
was wanted. Some of my young companions came unex- 
pectedly to sup with me ; we sat late : in the vanity of a young 
author, who glories in the rapidity of composition, I said to 



myself that I could finish my sermon in an hour's notice. But r 
alas ! when my companions at length departed, they left me in 
no condition to complete a sermon. I fell fast asleep, and was 
wakened in the morning hy the bishop's servant. The dismay 
I felt is indescribable ; I started up — it was nine o'clock : 
I began to write ; but my hand and my mind trembled, and 
my ideas were in such confusion, that I could not, great genius 
as I was, produce a beginning sentence in a quarter of an hour. 

I kept the bishop's servant forty minutes by his watch; wrote 
and re-wrote two pages, and walked up and down the room ; 
tore my two pages ; and at last, when the footman said he could 
wait no longer, was obliged to let him go with an awkward note, 
pleading sudden sickness for my apology. It was true that I was 
sufficiently sick at the time when I penned this note : my head 
ached terribly ; and I kept my room, reflecting upon my own 
folly, the whole of the day. I foresaw the consequences : the- 
living was given away by my patron the next morning, and all 
hopes of future favour were absolutely at an end. 

My father overwhelmed me with reproaches ; and I might 
perhaps have been reformed by this disappointment, but an un- 
expected piece of good fortune, or what I then thought good for- 
tune, was my ruin. 

Among the multitude of my college-friends was a young gen- 
tleman, whose father was just appointed to go out upon the 
famous embassy to China; he came to our shop to buy Du 
Halde ; and upon hearing me express an enthusiastic desire to 
visit China, he undertook to apply to his father to take rrte in the 
ambassador's suite. His representation of me as a young man 
of talents and literature, and the view of some botanical 
drawings, which I executed upon the spur of the occasion with 
tolerable neatness, procured me the favour which I so ardently 

My father objected to my making this voyage. He was vexed 
to see me quit the profession for which I had been educated ; 
and he could not, without a severe struggle, relinquish his hopes 
of seeing me a bishop. But I argued that, as I had not yet been 
ordained, there could be no disgrace or impropriety in my 
avoiding a mode of life which was not suited to my genius. This 
word genius had now, as upon all other occasions, a mighty effect 



upon my father ; and, observing this, I declared farther, in a high 
tone of voice, that from the experience I had already had, I was 
perfectly certain that the drudgery of sermon-writing would 
paralyze my genius ; and that, to expand and invigorate my in- 
tellectual powers, it was absolutely necessary I should, to use a 
great author's expression, " view in foreign countries varied 
modes of existence." 

My father's hopes that one half of his prophecy would at least 
be accomplished, and that I should become a great author, 
revived ; and he consented to my going to China, upon condition 
that I should promise to write a history of my voyage and jour- 
ney, in two volumes octavo, or one quarto, with a folio of 
plates. The promise was readily made ; for in the plenitude of 
confidence in my own powers, octavos and quartos shrunk before 
me, and a folio appeared too small for the various informa- 
tion, and the useful reflections, which a voyage to China must 

Full of expectations and projects, I talked from morning till 
night of my journey : but notwithstanding my father's hourly 
remonstrances, I deferred my preparations till the last week* 
Then all was hurry and confusion ; tailors and sempstresses, 
portmanteaus and trunks, portfolios and drawing-boxes, water- 
colours, crayons, and note-books, wet from the stationer's, crowded 
mv room. I had a dozen small note-books, and a huge common- 
place-book, which was to be divided and kept in the manner re- 
commended by the judicious and immortal Locke. 

In the midst of the last day's bustle, I sat down at the corner 
of a table with compass, ruler, and red ink, to divide and rule 
my best of all possible commonplace-books ; but the red ink was 
too thin, and the paper was not well sized, and it blotted conti- 
nually, because I was obliged to turn over the pages rapidly ; 
and ink will not dry, nor blotting-paper suck it up, more quickly 
for a genius than for any other man. Besides, my attention was 
much distracted by the fear that the sempstress would not send 
home my dozen of new shirts, and that a vile procrastinating 
boot-maker would never come with my boots. Every rap at the 
door I started up to inquire whether that was the shirts, or the 
boots : thrice I overturned the red, and twice the black ink 
bottles by these starts ; and the execrations which I bestowed 



upon those tradespeople, who will put off every thing to the last 
moment, were innumerable. I had orders to set off in the 
mail-coach for Portsmouth, to join the rest of the ambassador's 

The provoking watchman cried "past eleven o'clock" before 
1 had half-finished ruling my commonplace-book ; my shirts 
and my boots were not come : the mail-coach, as you may guess, 
set off without me. My poor father was in a terrible tremor, 
and walked from room to room, reproaching me and himself ; 
but I persisted in repeating that Lord M. would not set out the 
day he had intended : that nobody, since the creation of the 
world, ever set out upon a long journey the day he first ap- 
pointed : besides, there were at least a hundred chances in my 
favour that his lordship would break down on his way to Ports- 
mouth ; that the wind would not be fair when he arrived there ; 
that half the people in his suite would not be more punctual 
than myself, &c. 

By these arguments, or by mere dint of assertion, I quieted 
my father's apprehensions and my own, and we agreed that, 
as it was now impossible to go to-day, it was best to stay till to- 

Upon my arrival at Portsmouth, the first thing I heard was that 
the Lion and Hindostan had sailed some hours before, with the em- 
bassy for China. Despair deprived me of utterance. A charitable 
waiter at the inn, however, seeing my consternation and absolute 
inability to think or act for myself, ran to make farther inquiries, 
and brought me back the joyful tidings that the Jackal brig, 
which was to carry out the remainder of the ambassador's suite, 
was not yet under weigh ; that a gentleman, who was to go in 
the Jackal, had dined at an hotel in the next street, and that he 
had gone to the water-side but ten minutes age, 

I hurried after him : the boat was gone. I paid another 
exorbitantly to take me and my goods to the brig, and reached 
the Jackal just as she was weighing anchor. Bad education for 
me ! The moment I felt myself safe on board, having recovered 
breath to speak, I exclaimed, " Here am I, safe and sound ! just 
as well as if I had been here yesterday ; better indeed. Oh. 
after this, I shall always trust to my own good fortune ! I knew 
I should not be too late." 



When I came tc reflect coolly, however, I was rather sorry 
that I had missed my passage in the Lion, with my friend and 
protector, and with most of the learned and ingenious men of 
the ambassador's suite, to whom I had been introduced, and who 
had seemed favourably disposed towards me. All the advantage 
I might have derived from their conversation, during this long 
voyage, was lost by my own negligence. The Jackal lost 
company of the Lion and Hindostan in the Channel. As my 
friends afterwards told me, they waited for us five days in Praya 
Bay ; but as no Jackal appeared, they sailed again without her. 
At length, to our great joy, we descried on the beach of Sumatra 
a board nailed to a post, which our friends had set up there, with 
a written notice to inform us that the Lion and Hindostan had 
touched on this shore on such a day, and to point out to us the 
course that we should keep in order to join them. 

At the sight of this writing my spirits revived : the wind 
favoured us ; but, alas ! in passing the Straits of Banka, we 
were damaged so that we were obliged to return to port to refit, 
and to take in fresh provision. Not a soul on board but wished 
it had been their fate to have had a berth in the other ships ; 
and I more loudly than any one else expressed this wish twenty 
times a-day. When my companions heard that I was to have 
sailed in the ambassador's ship, if I had been time enough at 
Soithead, some pitied and some rallied me : but most said I 
deserved to be punished for my negligence. At length we joined 
the Lion and Hindostan at North Island. Our friends had quite 
given up all hopes of ever seeing us again, and had actually 
bought at Batavia a French brig, to supply the place of the 
Jackal. To my great satisfaction, I was now received on board 
the Lion, and had an opportunity of conversing with the men of 
literature and science, from whom I had been so unluckily 
separated during the former part of the voyage. Their con- 
versation soon revived and increased my regret, when they told 
me of all that I had missed seeing at the various places where 
they had touched: they talked to me with provoking fluency of 
the culture of manioc ; of the root of cassada, of which tapioca 
is made ; of the shrub called the cactus, on which the cochineal 
insect swarms and feeds; and of the ipecacuanha-plant; all 
which they had seen at Rio Janeiro, besides eight paintings 



representing the manner in which the diamond and gold mines 
in the Brazils are worked. Indeed, npon cross-examination, I 
found that these pictures were miserably executed, and scarcely 
worth seeing. 

I regretted more the fine pine-apples, which my companions 
assured me were in such abundance that they cleaned their 
swords in them, as being the cheapest acid that could be there 
procured. But, far beyond these vulgar objects of curiosity, I 
regretted not having learned any thing concerning the celebrated 
upas-tree. I was persuaded that, if I had been at Batavia, I 
should have extracted some information more precise than these 
gentlemen obtained from the keepers of the medical garden. 

I confess that my mortification at this disappointment did not 
arise solely from the pure love of natural history : the upas-tree 
would have made a conspicuous figure in my quarto volume. I 
consoled myself, however, by the determination to omit nothing 
that the vast empire of China could afford to render my work 
entertaining, instructive, interesting, and sublime. I anticipated 
the pride with which I should receive the compliments of my 
friends and the public upon my valuable and incomparable work ; 
I anticipated the pleasure with which my father would exult in 
the celebrity of his son, and in the accomplishment of his own 
prophecies ; and, with these thoughts full in my mind, we landed 
at Mettow, in China. 

I sat up late at night writing a sketch of my preface and notes 
for the heads of chapters. I was tired, fell into a profound sleep, 
dreamed I was teaching the emperor of China to pi*on ounce 
' chrononhotonthologos,' and in the morning was wakened by 
the sound of the gong ; the signal that the accommodation junks 
were ready to sail with the embassy to Pekin. I hurried on my 
clothes, and was in the junk before the gong had done beating. 
I gloried in my celerity ; but before we had gone two leagues up 
the country, I found reason to repent of my precipitation : I 
wanted to note down my first impressions on entering the 
Chinese territories ; but, alas ! I felt in vain in my pocket for my 
pencil and note-book : I had left them both behind me on my 
bed. Not only one note-book, but my whole dozen ; which, on 
leaving London, I had stuffed into a bag with my night-gown. 
Bag, night-gown, note-books, all were forgotten ! 



However trifling it may appear, this loss of the little note, 
books was of material consequence. To be sure, it was easy to 
procure paper and make others ; but, because it was so easy, it 
was delayed from hour to hour, and from day to day ; and I 
went on writing my most important remarks on scraps of paper, 
which were always to be copied to-morrow into a note-book that 
was then to be made. 

We arrived at Pekin, and were magnificently lodged in a 
palace in that city ; but here we were so strictly guarded, that we 
could not stir beyond the courts of the palace. You will say that 
in this confinement I had leisure sufficient to make a note-book, 
and to copy my notes : so I had, and it was my firm intention so to 
have done ; but I put it off because I thought it would take up 
but a few hours' time, and it could be done any day. Besides, 
the weather was so excessively hot, that for the first week, I could 
do nothing but unbutton my waistcoat and drink sherbet. Visits of 
ceremony from mandarins took up much of our time : they spoke 
and moved like machines ; and it was with much difficulty that 
our interpreter made us understand the meaning of their formal 
sentences, which were seldom worth the trouble of deciphering. 
We saw them fan themselves, drink tea, eat sweetmeats and 
rice, and chew betel ; but it was scarcely worth while to come all 
the way from Europe to see this, especially as any common 
Chinese paper or screen would give an adequate idea of these 
figures in their accustomed attitudes. 

I spent another week in railing at these abominably stupid or 
unnecessarily cautious creatures of ceremony, and made memo- 
randums for an eloquent chapter in my work. 

One morning we were agreeably surprised by a visit from a 
mandai-in of a very different description. We were astonished 
to hear a person in the habit of a Chinese, and bearing the title 
of a mandarin, address us in French : he informed us that he 
was originally a French Jesuit, and came over to China with 
several missionaries from Paris ; but as they were prohibited 
from promulgating their doctrines in this country, most of them 
had returned to France ; a few remained, assumed the dress and 
manners of the country, and had been elevated to the rank of 
mandarins as a reward for their learning. The conversation of 
our Chinese Jesuit was extremely entertaining and instructive • 



he was delighted to hear news from Europe, and we were eager 
to obtain from him information respecting China. I paid par- 
ticular attention to him, and I was so fortunate as to win his 
confidence, as far as the confidence of a Jesuit can be won. He 
came frequently to visit me, and did me the honour to spend 
some hours in my apartment. 

As he made it understood that these were literary visits, and 
as his character for propriety was well established with the 
government, he excited no suspicion, and we spent our time 
most delightfully between books and conversation. He gave 
me, by his anecdotes and descriptions, an insight into the cha- 
racters and domestic lives of the inhabitants of Pekin, which I 
could not otherwise have obtained : his talent for description was 
admirable, and his characters were so new to me that I was in 
continual ecstasy. I called him the Chinese La Bruyere ; and, 
anticipating the figure which his portraits would make in my 
future work, thought that I could never sufficiently applaud his 
eloquence. He was glad to lay aside the solemn gravity of a 
Chinese mandarin, and to indulge the vivacity of a Frenchman ; 
his vanity was gratified by my praises, and he exerted himself to 
the utmost to enhance my opinion of his talents. 

At length we had notice that it was the emperor's pleasure to 
receive the embassy at his imperial residence in Tartary, at 
Jehol ; the seat of grateful coolness, the garden of innumerable 
trees. From the very name of this place I augured that it would 
prove favourable to the inspirations of genius, and determined 
to date at least one of the chapters or letters of my future work 
from this delightful retreat, the Sans Souci of China. Full of 
this intention, I set out upon our expedition into Tartary. 

My good friend, the Jesuit, who had a petition to present to 
the emperor relative to some Chinese manuscripts, determined, 
to my infinite satisfaction, to accompany us to Jehol ; and our 
conducting mandarin, Van-Tadge, arranged things so upon our 
journey that I enjoyed as much of my friend's conversation as 
possible. Never European travelling in these countries had 
such advantages as mine ; I had a companion who was able and 
willing to instruct me in every minute particular of the manners, 
and every general principle of the government and policy, of 
the people. I was in no danger of falling into the ridiculous 



mistakes of travellers, who, having hut a partial view of things 
and persons, argue absurdly, and grossly misrepresent, while 
they intend to be accurate. Many people, as my French man- 
darin observed, reason like Voltaire's famous traveller, who 
happening to have a drunken landlord and a red-haired landlady 
at the first inn where he stopped in Alsace, wrote down among 
his memorandums — " All the men of Alsace drunkards : all the 
women red-haired." 

When we arrived at Jehol, the hurry of preparing for our 
presentation to the emperor, the want of a convenient writing- 
table, and perhaps my habit of procrastination, prevented my 
writing the chapter for my future work, or noting down any of 
the remarks which the Jesuit had made upon our journey. One 
morning when I collected my papers and the scraps of memo- 
randums with which the pockets of all my clothes were stuffed, 
I was quite terrified at the heap of confusion, and thrust all 
these materials for my quarto into a canvas bag, purposing to 
lay them smooth in a portfolio the next day. But the next day 
I could do nothing of this sort, for we had the British presents 
to unpack, which had arrived from Pekin ; the day after was 
taken up with our presentation to the emperor, and the day 
after that I had a new scheme in my head. The emperor, with 
much solemnity, presented with his own hand to our ambassador 
a casket, which he said was the most valuable present he could 
make to the king of England : it contained the miniature 
pictures of the emperor's ancestors, with a few lines of poetry 
annexed to each, describing the character, and recording the 
principal events, of each monarch's reign. It occurred to me 
that a set of similar portraits and poetical histories of the kings 
of England would be a proper and agreeable offering to the 
emperor of China : I consulted my friend the French mandarin, 
and he encouraged me by assurances that, as far as he could 
pretend to judge, it would be at present peculiarly suited to the 
emperor's taste ; and that in all probability I should be dis- 
tinguished by some mark of his approbation, or some munificent 
reward. My friend promised to have the miniatures varnished 
for me in the Chinese taste; and he undertook to present the 
work to the emperor when it should be finished. As it was 
supposed that the embassy would spend the whole winter in 

Popular Talcs. f f 



Pekin, I thought that I should have time enough to complete 
the whole series of British sovereigns. It was not necessary to 
be very scrupulous as to the resemblance of my portraits, as the 
emperor of China could not easily detect any errors of this 
nature : fortunately, I had brought from London with me 
striking likenesses of all the kings of England, with the principal 
events of their reign, in one large sheet of paper, which belonged 
to a joining-map of one of my little cousins. In the confusion 
of my packing up, I had put it into my trunk instead of a sheet 
almanack, which lay on the same table. In the course of 
my life, many lucky accidents have happened to me, even in 
consequence of my own carelessness ; yet that carelessness has 
afterward prevented my reaping any permanent advantage from 
my good fortune. 

Upon this occasion I was, however, determined that no 
laziness of mine should deprive me of an opportunity of making 
my fortune : I set to work immediately, and astonished my 
friend by the facility with which I made verses. It was my 
custom to retire from the noisy apartments of our palace to a 
sort of alcove, at the end of a long gallery, in one of the outer 
courts, where our corps of artillery used to parade. After their 
parade was over, the place was perfectly quiet and solitary fo 1 : 
the remainder of the day and night. I used to sit up late;, 
■writing ; and one fine moonlight night, I went out of my alcove 
to walk in the gallery, while I composed some lines on our gre£.t 
queen Elizabeth. I could not finish the last couplet to my 
fancy: I sat down upon an artificial rock, which was in the 
middle of the court, leaned my head upon my hand, and as i 
was searching for an appropriate rhyme to glory, fell fast asleep. 
A noise like that of a most violent clap of thunder awakened 
me ; I was thrown with my face flat upon the ground. 

When I recovered my senses, the court was filled with 
persons, some European, some Chinese, seemingly just risen 
from their beds, with lanterns and torches in their hands; all of 
them with faces of consternation, asking one another what had 
happened. The ground was covered with scattered fragments 
of wooden pillars, mats, and bamboo cane-work ; I looked and 
saw that one end of the gallery in which I had been walking, 
and the alcove, were in ruins. There was a strong smell of 



gunpowder. I now recollected that I had borrowed a powder- 
horn from one of the soldiers in the morning ; and that I had 
intended to load my pistols, but I delayed doing so. The horn, 
full of gunpowder, lay upon the table in the alcove all day, and 
the pistols, out of which I had shaken the old priming. When 
I went out to walk in the gallery, I left the candle burning ; 
and I suppose during my sleep a spark fell upon the loose 
gunpowder, set fire to that in the horn, and blew up the alcove. 
It was built of light wood and cane, and communicated only 
with a cane-work gallery ; otherwise the mischief would have 
been more serious. As it was, the explosion had alarmed 
not only all the ambassador's suite, who lodged in the palace, 
but many of the Chinese in the neighbourhood, who could not 
be made to comprehend how the accident had happened. 

Reproaches from all our own people were poured upon me 
without mercy ; and, in the midst of my contrition, I had not 
for some time leisure to lament the loss of all my kings of 
England : no vestige of them remained ; and all the labour that 
I had bestowed upon their portraits and their poetical histories 
was lost to the emperor of China and to myself. What was still 
worse, I could not even utter a syllable of complaint, for nobody 
would sympathize with me, all my companions were so much 
provoked by my negligence, and so apprehensive of the bad 
consequences which might ensue from this accident. The 
Chinese, who had been alanned, and who departed evidently 
dissatisfied, would certainly mention what had happened to the 
mandarins of the city, and they would report it to the emperor. ' 

I resolved to apply for advice to my friend, the Jesuit ; but he 
increased instead of diminished our apprehensions ; he said that 
the affair was much talked of and misrepresented at Jehol ; and 
that the Chinese, naturally timid, and suspicious of strangers, 
could not believe that no injury was intended to them, and that 
the explosion was accidental. A child had been wounded by the 
fall of some of the ruins of the alcove, which were thrown with 
great violence into C neighbouring house : the butt end of one of 
my pistols was found in the street, and had been carried to the 
magistrate by the enraged populace, as evidence of our evil 
designs. My Jesuit observed to me that there was no possibility 
of reasoning with the prejudices of any nation ; and he confessed 

f ; 2 



he expected that this unlucky accident would have the most 
serious consequences. He had told me in confidence a circumstance 
that tended much to confirm this opinion : a few days before, 
■when the emperor went to examine the British presents of 
artillery, and when the bi-ass mortars were tried, though he 
admired the ingenuity of these instruments of destruction, yet he 
said that he deprecated the spirit of the people who employed 
them, and could not reconcile their improvements in the arts of 
war with the mild precepts of the religion which they professed. 

My friend, the mandarin, promised he would do all in his 
power to make the exact truth known to the emperor ; and to 
prevent the evil impressions, which the prejudices of the populace, 
and perhaps the designing misrepresentations of the city man- 
darins, might tend to create. I must suppose that the good 
offices of my Jesuit were ineffectual, and that he either received 
a positive order to interfere no more in our affairs, or that he 
was afraid of being implicated in our disgrace if he continued his 
intimacy with me, for this was the last visit I ever received from 


In a few days the embassy had orders to return to Pekin. The 
ambassador's palace was fitted up for his winter's residence ; and, 
after our arrival, he was arranging his establishment, when, by a 
fresh mandate from the emperor, we were required to prepare 
■with all possible expedition for our departure from the Chinese 
dominions. On Monday we received an order to leave Pekin 
the ensuing Wednesday ; and all our remonstrances could 
procure only a delay of two days. Various causes were assigned 
for this peremptory order, and, among the rest, my unlucky 
accident was mentioned. However improbable it might seem 
that such a trifle could have had so great an effect, the idea was 
credited by many of my companions; and I saw that I was 
looked upon with an evil eye. 

I suffered extremely. I have often observed, that even 
remorse for my past negligence has tended to increase the 



original defect of my character. During our whole journey 
from Pekin to Canton, my sorrow for the late accident was an 
excuse to myself for neglecting to make either notes or observa- 
tions. When we arrived at Canton, my time was taken up with 
certain commissions for my friends at home, which I had delayed 
to execute while at Pekin, from the idea that we should spend 
the whole winter there. The trunks were on board before all 
my commissions were ready, and I was obliged to pack up several 
toys and other articles in a basket. As to my papers, they 
still remained in the canvass bag into which I had stuffed theui 
at Jehol : but I was certain of having leisure, during our voyage 
home, to arrange them, and to post my notes into Locke's 

At the beginning of the voyage, however, I suffered much 
from sea-sickness : toward the middle of the time I grew better, 
and indulged myself in the amusement of fishing while the 
weather was fine ; when the weather was not inviting, in idle- 
ness. Innumerable other petty causes of delay occurred : there 
was so much eating and drinking, so much singing and laughing, 
and such frequent card-playing in the cabin, that, though I 
produced my canvass bag above a hundred times, I never could 
accomplish sorting its contents : indeed, I seldom proceeded 
farther than to untie the strings. 

One day I had the state cabin fairly to myself, and had 
really begun my work, when the steward came to let me know 
that my Chinese basket was just washed overboard. In this 
basket were all the presents and commissions which I had bought 
at Canton for my friends at home. I ran to the cabin window, 
and had the mortification to see all my beautiful scarlet calibash 
boxes, the fan for my cousin Lucy, and the variety of toys, 
which I had bought for my little cousins, all floating on the sea 
far out of my reach. I had been warned before that the basket 
would be washed overboard, and had intended to put it into a 
safe place ; but unluckily I delayed to do so. 

I was so much vexed with this accident, that I could not go 
on with my writing : if it had not been for this interruption, I do 
uelieve I should that day have accomplished my long postponed 
task. I will not, indeed I cannot, record all the minute causes 
which afterwards prevented my executing my intentions. The 


papers were still in the same disorder, stuffed into the canvass 
bag, when I arrived in England. I promised myself that I 
would sort them the very day after I got home ; but visits of 
congratulation from my friends upon my return, induced me to 
delay doing any thing for the first week. The succeeding week. 
I had a multiplicity of engagements: all my acquaintance, 
curious to hear a man converse who w r as fresh from China, 
invited me to dinner and tea parties ; and I could not possibly 
refuse these kind invitations, and shut myself up in my room, 
like a hackney author, to write. My father often urged me to 
begin my quarto; for he knew that other gentlemen, who went 
out with the embassy, designed to write the history of the 
voyage ; and he, being a bookseller, and used to the ways of 
authors, foresaw what would happen. A fortnight after we 
came home, the following advertisement appeared in the papers: 
" Now in the press, and speedily will be published, a Narrative 
of the British Embassy to China, containing the various Circum- 
stances of the Embassy ; with Accounts of the Customs and 
Manners of the Chinese ; and a Description of the Country, 
Towns, Cities, &c." 

I never saw my poor father turn so pale or look so angry as 
when he saw this advertisement : he handed it across the break- 
fast table to me. 

" There, Basil," cried he, " I told you what would happen, and 
you would not believe me. But this is the way you have served 
me all your life, and this is the way you will go on to the day of 
your death, putting things off till to-morrow. This is the way 
you have lost every opportunity of distinguishing yourself; 
every chance, and you have had many, of advancing yourself 
in the world ! What signifies all I have done for you, or 
all you can do for yourself? Your genius and education are 
of no manner of use ! Why, there is that heavy dog, as you 
used to call him at Eton, Johnson : look how he is getting on 
in the world, by mere dint of application and sticking steadily 
to his profession. He will beat you at every thing, as he beat 
you at Eton in writing verses." 

" Only in copying them, sir. My verses, every body said, 
were far better than his ; only, unluckily, I had not mine finished 
and copied out in time." 



" Well, sir, and that is the very thing I complain of. I sup- 
pose you will tell me that your voyage to China will be far 
better than this which is advertised this morning." 

"To be sure it will, father; for I have had opportunities, and 
collected materials, which this man, whoever he is, cannot possi- 
bly have obtained. I have had such assistance, such information 

from my friend the missionary " 

" But, what signifies your missionary," your information, your 
abilities, and your materials ?" cried my father, raising hio voice. 
"Your book is not out, your book will never be finished; or it 
will be done too late, and nobody will read it ; and then you may 
throw it into the fire. Here you have an opportunity of es- 
tablishing your fame, and making yourself a great author at 
once ; and if you throw it away, Basil, I give you fair notice, I 
never will pardon you." 

I promised my father that I would set about my work to- 
morrow ; and pacified him by repeating that this hasty publica- 
tion, which had just been advertised, must be a catchpenny, and 
that it would serve only to stimulate instead of satisfying the 
public curiosity. My quarto, I said, would appear afterwards 
with a much better grace, and would be sought for by every 
person of science, taste, and literature. 

Soothed by these assurances, my father recovered his good- 
humour, and trusted to my promise that I would commence my 
great work the ensuing day. I was fully in earnest. I went to 
my canvass bag to prepare my materials. Alas ! I found them 
in a terrible condition. The sea-water, somehow or other, had 
got to them during the voyage ; and many of my most precious 
documents were absolutely illegible. The notes, written in pen- 
cil, were almost effaced, and when I had smoothed the crumpled 
scraps, I could make nothing of them. It was with the utmost 
difficulty I could read even those that were written in ink ; they 
were so villainously scrawled and so terribly blotted. When I 
had made out the words, I was often at a loss for the sense ; 
because I had trusted so much to the excellence of my memory, 
that my notes were never either sufficiently full or accurate. 
Ideas which I had thought could never be effaced from my mind 
were now totally forgotten, and I could not comprehend my own 
'mysterious elliptical hints and memorandums. I remember 



spending two hours in trying to make out what the following 
words could mean : Hoy — alia — lioya ; — hoya, Jioya — hoy — 

At last, I recollected that they were merely the sounds of the 
words used hy the Chinese sailors, in towing the junks, and I was 
much provoked at having wasted my time in trying to remember 
what was not worth recording. Another day I was puzzled by 
the following memorandum : " W : C : 30. f. h. — 24 b. — 120 m 
— 1— mandarin— C. tradition— 2000— 200 before J. C— " which, 
after three quarters of an hour's study, I discovered to mean that 
the wall of China is 30 feet high, 24 feet broad, and 120 miles 
long; and that a mandarin told me, that, according to Chinese 
tradition, this wall had been built above 2000 years, that is, 200 
before the birth of our Saviour. 

On another scrap of paper, at the very bottom of the bag, I 
found the words, " Wheazou — Chanchin — Cuaboocow — Caung- 
chumfoa — Callachottueng — Quanshanglin — Callachotre shansu," 
&c. ; all which I found to be a list of towns and villages through 
which we had passed, or palaces that we had seen ; but how to 
distinguish these asunder I knew not, for all recollection of them 
was obliterated from my mind, and no farther notes respecting 
them were to be found. 

After many days' tiresome attempts, I was obliged to give up 
all hopes of deciphering the most important of my notes, those 
which I had made from the information of the French missionary. 
Most of what I had trusted so securely to my memory was de- 
fective in some slight circumstances, w r hich rendered the whole 
useless. My materials for my quarto shrunk into a very small 
compass. I flattered myself, however, that the elegance of my 
composition, and the moral and political reflections with which 
I intended to intersperse the work, would compensate for the 
paucity of facts in my narrative. That I might devote my whole 
attention to the business of writing, I determined to leave 
London, where I met with so many temptations to idleness, and 
set off" to pay a visit to my uncle Lowe, who lived in the country, 
in a retired part of England. He was a farmer, a plain, sensible^ 
affectionate man ; and as he had often invited me to come and 
see him, I made no doubt that 1 should be an agreeable guest. I 
had intended to have written a few lines the week before I set 



out, to say that I was coming ; but I put it oft' till at last I thought 
that it would be useless, because I should get there as soon as my 

I had soon reason to regret that I had been so negligent ; for 
my appearance at my uncle's, instead of creating that general 
joy which I had expected, threw the whole house into confusion. 
It happened that there was company in the house, and all the 
beds were occupied : while I vas taking off my boots, I had the 
mortification to hear my aunt Lowe say, in a voice of mingled 
distress and reproach, "Comet is he?— My goodness! What 
shall we do for a bed ? — How c~uld he think of coming without 
writing a line beforehand ? My goodness ! I wu h he was a 
hundred miles off, I'm sure." 

My uncle shook hands with me, and welcomed me to old Eng- 
land again, and to his house ; which, he said, should always be 
open to all his relations. I saw that he was not pleased ; and, 
as he was a man who, according to the English phrase, scorned 
to keep a thing long upon his mind, he let me know, before he had 
finished his first glass of ale to my good health, that he was in- 
clinable to take it very unkind indeed that, after all he had said 
about my writing a letter now and then, just to say how I did, 
and how I was going on, I had never put pen to paper to answer 
one of his letters since the day I first promised to write, which 
was the day I went to Eton school, till this present time of 
speaking. I had no good apology to make for myself, but I at- 
tempted all manner of excuses ; that I had put off writing 
from day to day, and from year to year, till I was ashamed to 
write at all ; that it was not from want of affection, &c. 

My uncle took up his pipe and puffed away, while I spoke : 
and when I had said all that I could devise, I sat silent ; for I 
saw by the looks of all present that I had not mended the matter. 
My aunt pursed up her mouth, and " wondered, if she must tell 
the plain truth, that so great a scholar as Mr. Basil could not, 
when it must give him so little trouble to indite a letter, write a 
few lines to an uncle who had begged it so often, and who had 
ever been a good friend." 

" Say nothing of that," said my uncle : "I scorn to have that 
put into account. I loved the boy, and all I could do was done, 
of course : that's nothing to the purpose ; but the longest day I 



have to live I'll never trouble him with begging a letter from 
him no more. For now I see he does not care a fig for me ; 
and of course I do not care a fig for he. Lucy, hold up your 
head, girl; and don't look as if you were going to be hanged " 

My cousin Lucy was the only person present who seemed to 
have any compassion for me ; and, as I lifted up my eyes to look 
at her when her father spoke, she appeared to me quite 
beautiful. I had always thought her a pretty girl, but sbe never 
struck me as any thing very extraordinary till this moment. I 
was very sorry that I had offended my uncle : I saw he was 
seriously displeased, and that his pride, of which he had a large 
portion, had conquered his affection for me. 

u "lis easier to lose a friend than gain one, young man," said 
he ; "and take my word for it, as this world goes, 'tis a foolish 
thing to lose a friend for want of writing a letter or so. Here's 
seven years I have been begging a letter now and then, and 
could not get one. Never wrote a line to me before you went 
to China ; should not have known a word about it but for my 
wife, who met you by mere chance in London, and gave you 
some little commission for the children, which it seems you for- 
got till it was too late. Then, after you came back, never wrote 
to me." 

" And even not to write a line to give one notice of his coming 
here to-night," added my aunt. 

" Oh. as to that," replied my uncle, " he can never find our 
larder at a nonplus ; we have no dishes for him dressed Chinese 
fashion ; but as to roast beef of old England, which, I take it, is 
worth all the foreign meats in the world, he is welcome to it, and 
to as much of it as he pleases. I shall always be glad to see 
him as a relation and so forth, as a good Christian ought, but 
not as the favourite he used to be — that is out of the question ; 
for things cannot be both done and undone, and time that's past 
cannot come back again, that is clear ; and cold water thrown 
on a warm heart puts it out ; and there's an end of the matter. 
Lucy, bring me my nightcap." 

Lucy, I think, sighed once ; and I am sure I sighed above a 
dozen times; but my uncle put on bis red nightcap, and heeded 
us not. I was in hopes that the next morning he would have been 
better disposed towards me after having slept off his anger. The 



moment that I appeared in the morning, the children, who had 
been in hed when I arrived the preceding night, crowded round 
me, and one cried, " Cousin Basil, have you brought me the 
tumbler you promised me from China ?" 
" Cousin Basil, where's my boat?" 

" O Basil, did you bring me the calibash box that you promised 
me ?" 

"And pray," cried my aunt, "did you bring my Lucy the 
fan that she commissioned you to get?" 

"No, I'll warrant," said my uncle. "He that cannot bring 
himself to write a letter in the course of seven years to his 
friends, will not be apt to trouble his head about their foolish 
commissions, when he is in foreign parts." 

Though I was abashed and vexed, I summoned sufficient 
courage to reply that I had not neglected to execute the com- 
missions of any of my friends ; but that, by an unlucky accident, 
the basket into which I had packed all their things was washed 

" Hum !" said my uncle. 

" And pray," said my aunt, " why were they all packed in a 
basket? Why were not they put into your trunks, where they 
might have been safe ?" 

1 was obliged to confess that I had delayed to purchase them 
till after we left Pekin ; and that the trunks were put on board 
before they were all procured at Canton. My vile habit of pro- 
crastination ! How did I suffer for it at this moment ! Lucy 
began to make excuses for me, which made me blame myself the 
more : she said that, as to her fan, it would have been of little or 
no use to her ; that she was sure she should have broken it before 
it had been a week in her possession ; and that, therefore, she was 
glad that she had it not. The children were clamorous in their 
grief for the loss of the boat, the tumbler, and the calibash 
boxes ; but Lucy contrived to quiet them in time, and to make 
my peace with all the younger part of the family. To reinstate 
me in my uncle's good graces was impossible ; he would only 
repeat to her — " The young man has lost my good opinion ; he 
will never do any good. From a child upward he has always 
put off doing every thing he ought to do. He will never do any- 
good; he will never be any thing." 



My aunt was not my friend, because she suspected that Lucy 
liked me ; and she thought her daughter might do much better 
than marry a man who had quitted the profession to which he 
was bred, and was, as it seemed, little likely to settle to any 
other. My pretensions to genius and my literary qualifications 
were of no advantage to me, either with my uncle or my aunt; 
the one being only a good farmei-, and the other only a good 
housewife. They contented themselves with asking me, coolly, 
what I had ever made by being an author ? And when I was 
forced to answer nothing, they smiled upon me in scorn. My 
pride was roused, and I boasted that I expected to receive at 
least 600/. for my "Voyage to China," which I hoped to complete 
in a few weeks. My aunt looked at me with astonishment ; 
and, to prove to her that I was not passing the bounds of truth, 
I added, that one of my travelling companions had, as I was 
credibly informed, received 1000/. for his narrative, to which 
mine would certainly be far superior. 

" When it is done, and when you have the money in your 
hand to show us, I shall believe you," said my aunt; "and 
then, and not till then, you may begin to think of my 

"He shall never have her," said my uncle ; "he will never 
come to good. He shall never have her." 

The time which I ought to have spent in composing my 
quarto I now wasted in fruitless endeavours to recover the good 
graces of my uncle. Love, assisted as usual by the spirit of 
opposition, took possession of my heart ; and how can a man in 
love write quartos? I became more indolent than ever, for 
I persuaded myself that no exertions could overcome my uncle's 
prejudice against me ; and, without his approbation, I despaired 
of ever obtaining Lucy's hand. 

During my stay at my uncle's, I received several letters from 
my father, inquiring how my work went on, and urging me to 
proceed as rapidly as possible, lest another "Voyage to China," 
which it was reported a gentleman of high reputation was now 
composing, should come out, and preclude mine for ever. I 
cannot account for my folly : the power of habit is imperceptible 
to those who submit passively to its tyranny. From day to 
day I continued procrastinating and sighing, till at last the fatal 



news came that Sir George Staunton's History of the Embassy 
to China, in two volumes quarto, was actually published. 

There was an end of all my hopes. I left my uncle's house 
in despair ; I dreaded to see my father. He overwhelmed me 
with well-merited reproaches. All his expectations of my success 
in life were disappointed ; he was now convinced that I should 
never make my talents useful to myself or to my family. A 
settled melancholy appeared in his countenance ; he soon ceased 
to urge me to any exertion, and I idled away my time, deploring 
that I could not marry my Lucy, and resolving upon a thou- 
sand schemes for advancing myself, but always delaying their 
execution till to-morrow. 


Two years passed away in this manner, about the end of which 
time my poor father died. I cannot describe the mixed sensa- 
tions of grief and self-reproach which I felt at his death. I 
knew that I had never fulfilled his sanguine prophecies, and that 
disappointment had long preyed upon his spirits. This was a 
severe shock to me : I was roused from a state of stupefaction 
by the necessity of acting as my father's executor. 

Among his bequests was one which touched me particularly, 
because I was sensible that it was made from kindness to me. 
" I give and bequeath the full-length picture of my son Basil, 
taken when a boy (a very promising boy) at Eton school, to my 
brother Lowe — I should say to my sweet niece, Lucy Lowe, 
but am afraid of giving offence." 

I sent the picture to my uncle Lowe, with a copy of the words 
of the will, and a letter written in the bitterness of grief. My 
uncle, who was of an affectionate though positive temper, re- 
turned me the following answer: 


" Taking it for granted you feel as much as I do, it being 
natural you should, and even more, I shall not refuse to let my 
Lucy have the picture bequeathed to me by my good brother, 



who could not offend me dying, never having done so living. 
As to you, Basil, this is no time for reproaches, which would be 
cruel ; but, without meaning to look back to the past, I must 
add that I mean nothing by giving the picture to Lucy but 
respect for my poor brother's memory. My opinions remaining 
as heretofore, I think it a duty to my girl to be steady in my 
determination ; convinced that no man (not meaning you in 
particular) of what I call el putting off temper could make her 
happy, she being too mild to scold and bustle, and do the man's 
business in a family. This is the whole of my mind without malice ; 
for how could I, if I were malicious, which I am not, bear 
malice, and at such a time as this, against my own nephew? and 
as to anger, that is soon over with me ; and though I said I 
never would forgive you, Basil, for not writing to me for seven 
years, I do now forgive you with all my heart. So let that be 
off your conscience. And now I hope we shall be very good 
friends all the rest of our lives ; that is to say, putting Lucy out 
of the question ; for, in my opinion, it is a disagreeable thing to 
have any bickerings between near relations. So, my dear 
nephew, wishing you all health and happiness, I hope you will 
now settle to business. My wife tells me she hears you are left 
in a good way by my poor brother's care and industry ; and she 
sends her love to you, in which all the family unite ; and 
hoping you will write from time to time, I remain, 
" My dear nephew Basil, 

" Your affectionate uncle, 

" Thomas Lowe." 

My aunt Lowe added a postscript, inquiring more particularly 
into the state of my affairs. I answered, by return of post, that 
my good father had left me much richer than I either expected 
or deserved : his credit in the booksellers' line was extensive 
and well established ; his shop was well furnished, and he had a 
considerable sum of money in bank ; beside many good debts 
due from authors, to whom he had advanced cash. 

My aunt Lowe was governed by her interest, as decidedly as 
my uncle was swayed by his humour and affection; and, of' 
course, became more favourable toward me, when she found 
that my fortune was better than she had expected. She wrote to 



exhort me to attend to my business, and to prove to my uncle 
that I could cure myself of my negligent habits. She promised 
to befriend me, and to do every thing to obtain my uncle's 
consent to my union with Lucy, upon condition that I would for 
six months steadily persevere, or, as she expressed herself, show 
that I could come to good. 

The motive was powerful, sufficiently powerful to conquer the 
force of inveterate habit. I applied resolutely to business, and 
supported the credit which my father's punctuality had obtained 
from his customers. During the course of six entire months, I 
am not conscious of having neglected or delayed to do anything 
of consequence that I ought to have done except whetting my 
razor. My aunt Lowe faithfully kept her word with me, and 
took every opportunity of representing, in the most favourable 
manner to my uncle, the reformation that love had wrought in 
my character. 

I went to the country, full of hope, at the end of my six pro- 
bationary months. My uncle, however, with a mixture of 
obstinacy and good sense, replied to my aunt in my presence : 
"This reformation that you talk of, wife, won't last. 'Twas 
begun by love, as you say ; and will end with love, as / say. 
You and I know, my dear, love lasts little longer than the honey- 
moon ; and Lucy is not, or ought not to be, such a simpleton as 
to look only to what a husband will be for one short month of his 
life, when she is to live with him for twenty, thirty, may be forty 
long years ; and no help for it, let him turn out what he will. I 
beg your pardon, nephew Basil ; but where my Lucy's happiness 
is at stake, I must speak my mind as a father should. My opi- 
nion, Lucy, is, that he is not a whit changed ; and so I now let 
you understand, if you marry the man, it must be without my 

Lucy turned exceedingly pale, and I grew extremely 
angry. My uncle had, as usual, recourse to his pipe ; and to 
all the eloquence which love and indignation could inspire, 
he would only answer, between the whiffs of his smoking, " If 
my girl marries you, nephew Basil, I say she must do so without 
my consent." 

Lucy's affection for me struggled for some time with her sense 
of duty to her father ; her mother supported my cause with much 



warmth ; having once declared in my favour, she considered 
herself as hound to maintain her side of the question. It be- 
came a trial of power between my uncle and aunt ; and their 
passions rose so high in the conflict, that Lucy trembled for the 

One day she took an opportunity of speaking to me in 
private. " My dear Basil," said she, " we must part. You see 
that I can never be yours with my father's consent; and without 
it I could never be happy, even in being united to you. I will 
not be the cause of misery to all those whom I love best in 
the world. I will not set my father and mother at variance. 
I cannot bear to hear the altercations, which rise higher and 
higher between them every day. Let us part, and all will be 
right again." 

It was in vain that I combated her resolution : I alternately 
resented and deplored the weakness which induced Lucy to 
sacrifice her own happiness and mine to the obstinate prejudices 
of a father ; yet I could not avoid respecting her the more for 
her adhering to what she believed to be her duty. The sweet- 
ness of temper, gentleness of disposition, and filial piety, which 
she showed on this trying occasion, endeared her to me beyond 

Her father, notwithstanding his determination to be as im- 
moveable as a rock, began to manifest symptoms of internal 
agitation ; and one night, after breaking his pipe, and throwing 
down the tongs and poker twice, which Lucy twice replaced, he 
exclaimed, " Lucy, girl, you are a fool ! and, what is worse, you 
are grown into a mere shadow. You are breaking my heart. 
Why, I know this man, this Basil, this cursed nephew of mine, 
will never come to good. But cannot you marry him without 
my consent ?" 

Upon this hint, Lucy's scruples vanished ; and, a few days 
afterward, we were married. Prudence, virtue, pride, love, every 
strong motive which can act upon the human mind, stimulated 
me to exert myself to prove that I was worthy of this most 
amiable woman. A year passed away, and my Lucy said that 
she had no reason to repent of her choice. She took the most 
affectionate pains to convince her father that she was perfectly 
happy, and that he had judged of me too harshly. His delight 



at seeing his daughter happy, vanquished his reluctance to ac- 
knowledge that he had changed his opinion. I never shall 
forget the pleasure I felt at hearing him confess that he had 
been too positive, and that his Lucy had made a good match foi 

Alas ! when I had obtained this testimony in my favour, 
when I had established a character for exertion and punctuality, 
I began to relax in my efforts to deserve it : I indulged myself 
in my old habits of procrastination. My customers and country 
correspondents began to complain that their letters were un- 
answered, and that their orders were neglected. Their remon- 
strances became more and more urgent in process of time, and 
nothing but actually seeing the dates of their letters could con- 
vince me that they were in the right, and that I was in the wrong. 
An old friend of my father's, a rich gentleman, who loved books, 
and bought all that were worth buying, sent me, in March, an 
order for books to a considerable amount. In April, he wrote to 
remind me of his first letter. 

" my dear sir, April 3. 

" Last month I wrote to request that you would send me the 
following books : — I have been much disappointed by not re- 
ceiving them ; and I request you will be so good as to forward 
them immediately. 

" I am, my dear sir, 

" Yours sincerely, 

"J. C." 

In May he wrote to me again : 


" I am much surprised at not having yet received the books I 
wrote for last March — beg to know the cause of this delay; and 

" Dear sir, 

" Yours, &c. 

" J. C." 

A fortnight afterward, as I was packing up the books for tin* 
gentleman, I received the following : 

Popular Tales. g g 



" SIR, 

u As it is now above a quarter of a year since I wrote to you 
for books, whicb you bave not yet sent to me, I have been 
obliged to apply to anotber bookseller. 

" I am mucb concerned at being compelled to this : I had a 
great regard for your father, and would not willingly break off 
my connexion with his son ; but really you have tried my 
patience too far. Last year I never had from you any one new 
publication, until it was in the hands of all my neighbours ; and 
I have often been under the necessity of borrowing books which 
I had bespoken from you months before. I hope you will take 
this as a warning, and that you will not use any of your other 
friends as you have used, 

" Sir, 

" Your humble servant, 

" J. C." 

This reprimand had little effect upon me, because, at the 
time when I received it, I was intent upon an object, in 
comparison with which the trade of a bookseller appeared 
absolutely below my consideration. I was inventing a set of 
new taxes for the minister, for which I expected to be liberally 
rewarded. I was ever searching for some short cut to the 
temple of Fame, instead of following the beaten road. 

I was much encouraged by persons intimately connected with 
those high in power to hope that my new taxes would be 
adopted ; and I spent my time in attendance upon my patrons, 
leaving the care of my business to my foreman, a young man 
whose head the whole week was intent upon riding out on 
Sunday. With such a master and such a foreman affairs could 
not go on well. 

My Lucy, notwithstanding her great respect for my abilities, 
and her confidence in my promises, often hinted that she feared 
ministers might not at last make me amends for the time I 
devoted to my system of taxation ; but I persisted. The file of 
unanswered letters was filled even to the top of t